


Switchblade

by EphemeralDichotomy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Slurs, mentions of child abuse, mentions of drug use, michael from the streets!au, street!Michael
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EphemeralDichotomy/pseuds/EphemeralDichotomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Yetiokay's "Michael from the streets!AU" on Tumblr: “AU where Jersey is a super dangerous place (because it really is) full of gangs and criminals. Michael’s lived on the streets his whole life and has learned to fend for himself and lots of people fear him.” </p><p>When he meets the AH crew, he learns that there might actually be more to life than just surviving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the Street!Michael AU starting from the day Michael meets the Achievement Hunter guys.
> 
> This story will at various times have scenes or moments inspired by the prompts and head-canons in the "Michael from the streets!AU" tag on Yetiokay's Tumblr.

Michael shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting restlessly as he stood in line. Conventions were great, as long as you didn't get caught. There were always tons of people to get lost among, dressed in everything from elaborate, expensive cosplay to jeans and hoodies almost as battered and dingy as Michael’s, so for once, he didn't have to worry about standing out. There were giveaways and free merchandise, and even free food sometimes. And when you’d been on the streets for as long as Michael had, it usually wasn't even all that hard to get in. Living rough teaches you an awful lot about back entrances and holes in security. The downside was you had to constantly be on the lookout for guardians and security, because if they caught you once, it was about 100 times harder to sneak in again.

He was in this particular line because he’d heard they were giving away free t-shirts to the first 25 people in line. Free clothing was the best. Winter was just around the corner, and New Jersey was not a great place to be homeless in in the winter. Any clothing he could get his hands on would be vital in a couple months. Turns out it was lucky he snuck in well before the event even started; by the time there were enough people on the floor that he could safely come out and blend in, the line was already 20 deep. 

He leaned out of the line a little to check out the booth he and about 50 other people were waiting in line to see. It didn't look like much to him. Just a table with 3 guys standing behind it and a banner that said “Achievement Hunter.” But each person that made it up to table seemed totally thrilled, asking the guys to sign stuff, or take pictures, or whatever. He squinted a little to bring the guys into focus. Yeah, it was nobody he’d ever heard of, just 2 skinny guys about his age and a slightly older guy with a lot of tattoos. Michael just didn't get the hype. He would definitely fake it for free stuff, but every time he snuck into one of these things he was confused by the number of people willing to wait hours in line to just meet some dude. Stand in line for hours for free food? Yeah, he could get that. But just to shake some guy’s hand? What the fuck. 

As he got closer, he did have to give the guys at the booth some credit. He’d been to a few of these, and a lot of the time, especially this early in the morning, the ‘celebrities’ or whatever at the booths were visibly bored or tired, arrogant or obviously faking having to smile for every single fan. But these guys seemed pretty down to earth, genuinely happy to meet each fan, and were laughing and joking with everyone like they were a friend. Michael still didn't see the value in waiting in line for an hour just to see these guys, but there were definitely way worse ways to spend a morning.

When he finally got up to the table he just spouted off what he’d heard the last 4 or 5 people say, something about being a big fan and loving their “Let’s Plays” (what the fuck was a Let’s Play?). He really wasn't the type to smile much, but he did his best to lighten his typical scowl. He shook hands with Tattoos and a British guy with a big nose, and then he was standing in front of the skinny guy with black hair.

“We still got a couple of shirts left. Medium ok?” This guy was less energetic and loud that the Brit, but still greeted him with a warm smile.

“Sure. Thanks!” At least he didn't have to fake his enthusiasm for the free shirt. 

“No problem. Thanks for coming by to see us!” Michael wanted to roll his eyes or scoff at the enthusiasm. But as he took the shirt and shook the guy’s hand, for just a second he met the guy’s eyes, and saw nothing but good nature and apparent genuine warmth. It wasn't too often that someone smiled at Michael like they were glad to see him—in fact, he couldn't remember the last time it had happened. Almost despite himself, Michael smiled back.

Then he was moving out of the way of the next fan and that was that. He wondered for a second what it would be like to be friends with guys like that. To not have to constantly watch your back, to not be constantly searching for the next meal or shelter, to have the kind of life where you could just chill on a couch and hang out with good friends… 

Fuck it. That was never gonna be his life. Michael growled and shook off the stupid fantasy. Sometimes it just pissed him off, being surrounded by so many people that had so little to worry about in life that they could afford to waste money on a ticket for the opportunity to dress up and stand in lines with a bunch of other morons. Must be fucking nice to be so clueless. But that wasn't him. He was here for the free stuff, and that’s it. He stuffed the t-shirt in his battered backpack, and moved off into the crowd.

~

It was getting late, sun disappearing behind the buildings, and Michael was back behind the convention center. This parking lot for the exhibitors backed up to an alley, and was how Michael got in and out of the convention center most of the time. God, the security at this place was such a joke. Even though a ton of merch moved in and out of the center through the loading dock and back door here, only a chain link fence separated the lot from the alley. On top of that, the handful of cameras didn't cover the whole area, and the only security guard was asleep in his chair in a shack about 100 yards away, at the street entrance to the lot. Every once and a while someone would get jumped back here and they’d make a big show of beefing up security for a while, but it never lasted for long. 

Michael was lurking behind a truck parked at the loading dock, hoodie up. This whole corner of the lot was a blind spot for the cameras. If you were lucky and patient, a lot of the time someone moving merch to or from the center would get lazy or stop paying attention and you could snatch a box unnoticed. Sometimes you got something useful, like a box of t-shirts, and sometimes it was just something to pawn. Regardless, whenever there was a convention in town, no matter what kind, Michael usually spent a couple of hours each evening staking out this spot.

Tonight, apparently, was not the night for luck. After an hour or so, the lot was just about empty and it seemed that not a single person was going to move anything in or out of the convention center. Michael was about to give up when the back door opened and a couple of guys walked out. As they walked, clueless, past his hiding spot, he realized they were the two younger guys from the booth this morning. They were joking and jostling each other as they walked to a van parked at the back of the parking lot. The Brit unlocked the van and stuck the keys back in his pocket. They each grabbed a box out of the back, and the Brit turned to head back into the convention center. 

Michael took a step closer, a little conflicted. They had actually seemed like pretty nice guys, not something that Michael was very familiar with. And while he definitely never went for armed robbery, if they happened to forget to lock the van, he wasn't sure a smile and a free t-shirt this morning was going to be enough motivation to keep him from going through their shit for anything valuable. But the black haired guy with glasses leaned back against the van and when the Brit kept walking without realizing he was on his own, Glasses shouted, “Hey, Gav! Forgetting something?”

“Bollocks!” The Brit turned back, but Michael stopped listening to their banter when he noticed three guys walking down the alley. Just from their body language and clothing he could tell they were gang-banger wannabes, mostly ego and show, but with a mean streak. From 50 yards away, even with his shitty eyesight, Michael could see the exact moment when the gang-bangers spotted Brit and Glasses and recognized them for the easy prey they were. While the two idiots continued to joke around and shove each other by the van, the three bangers hopped the chain link fence, and headed straight for them.

“Fucking morons!” Michael muttered. He stuck his hand in his pocket, debating whether or not to get involved. Normally that would be a no-brainer. “Never get involved” was a damn good rule to survive by. But something about the easy, good humor of the Brit and the way Glasses smiled at him earlier made him hesitate.

“Hey, faggots, what’s up?” The lead banger called out as his group walked up to Glasses and Brit.

The Brit turned around with a scowl, mouth open to retaliate, when Glasses elbowed him in the side. “Nothin’, man. Just leaving.” He was obviously a little more aware of the potential danger he was in, glancing at each ganger as they spread out and came to halt a little too close for comfort, essentially trapping the two of them up against the van. The Brit was fairly tall, but Glasses was several inches shorter, and they were both skinny guys, quite a bit lighter than the thugs in front of them.

“Uh huh. Whatcha got in the boxes, bitches?”

The Brit spoke up before Glasses had a chance to shush him. “What the hell is your problem, arsehole?”

The bangers laughed. “Aaahhss-hole?” The leader mocked him, drawing out (and butchering) the Brit’s accent. “Little British cunt, huh? Took a break from drinking tea to come visit your betters in America?” 

Michael rolled his eyes. These guys were fucking idiots. The Brit looked like he wanted to retaliate, but had apparently finally realized he was outnumbered and little bit lightweight to be picking a fight with thugs. He kept his mouth shut and Glasses answered again. “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble. We’re just leaving.” Michael had to roll his eyes again. Had the phrase, ‘we don’t want any trouble’ ever worked? Glasses took a step towards the gap between the leader and the thug on the left, apparently hoping he could just walk away.

“We say you could fuckin’ leave, fag?” The leader barked. He took a step forward and shoved Glasses, hard, back against the van. Michael winced as he heard Glasses’ head bounce off the door and he dropped the box. “Oi!” The Brit shouted, dropping his box as well, apparently opting to have free hands. 

Michael watched the situation escalate for about 15 more seconds before he snapped. He argued with himself even as he pulled the switchblade out of his pocket. _You fucking moron. You’re about to try and save these two idiots, why!? Because they were nice to you!? They don’t know you, they were being nice to everyone! You are about to bet your life on the guess that these fuckers are not armed!_ He started walking towards the group, adrenaline rising. Fuck it. The thugs were just wannabes after all, and there were only three of them.

He stopped a few feet behind the thugs. “Hey, assholes! These two are mine. How about you fuck off?” He didn't quite shout, but his voice was harsh and promised imminent violence. The thugs shut up and spun around to face him, and in the sudden quiet he triggered the switchblade still held low in his hand, knowing that the quiet *snick* of the blade would be a more effective threat than waving it around.

The leader glanced at the blade in his hand, and then at his face, shadowed by the hood he still had up. Despite the pumping adrenaline, Michael was calm, no expression on his face beyond his customary scowl, shoulders relaxed and feet braced. The thug scoffed and glanced at his two followers for support. Definitely a poser, not a real threat. Certainly more than capable of beating the shit out of two virgins like Glasses and Brit, but highly unlikely to be a match for someone like Michael, even three on one. Michael did not fuck around, and had the reputation to prove it.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, homie?” Ignoring the silent threat of the knife, the leader reached up and flicked back Michael’s hood in a show of bravado. Michael didn't react in any way. He never bothered with bluffing or trying to act scary. It was pointless, and half the time it started more fights than it avoided. If he could stare a threat down, he would, and if he couldn't, he would strike first and hardest. Only fight if you were forced to, when you had to fight, put the other guy down _hard_ , and if the threat was big enough, put it down permanently--those rules were what kept him alive.

When the nearby street light hit his face, the thug on his left took a tiny step back. “Uh, Johnny? Maybe we should just leave this dude to his marks. They’re not worth our time, anyway.” The leader looked Michael over again and then looked at his friend, confused.

“The fuck, man? You scared of this punk?” On the surface, Michael knew he didn't look like much. He was average height, muscular but thin, wearing torn jeans and a dirty hoodie, with curly brown hair underneath a beanie, too many fucking freckles, and a thin scar on his left cheekbone. But the punk wavered a bit before answering.

“Nah, man. ‘Course not. It’s uh, just…” He looked at Michael, “Hey, is your name Mogar?”

Even the leader reacted to that name, eyebrows shooting up, glancing from his friend back to Michael. Internally, Michael winced. It was a stupid fucking name. When he’d first hit the streets he was just a kid, and he thought the name sounded tough. And though he’d earned a serious reputation with it, a reputation that had saved his life more than once, he still thought it sounded stupid now. Outwardly, though, he didn't really react. “Not my name, but that’s what they call me.”

The leader rocked back a bit. “No shit! You’re Mogar, dude?” Michael wasn't looking at Brit and Glasses, but out of the corner of his eye he caught them looking at each other with ‘wtf?’ expressions.

“That’s me.” 

The thug on his right let out a low, “Oh, man…” The leader glanced down at the knife again, eyed Michael one more time, and decided he was out of his league. “Hey, man, cool. Didn't mean to intrude. You wanna roll these two twinks, you have fun. We got better places to be, anyway.” 

“Then maybe you should be there.” Michael continued to hold his position as the thug tossed his hands up and backed off. He took two or three steps back from Michael before punching one of his friends on the shoulder and tilting his head at the fence. The three walked away with a bit more speed than they came with, hopped the fence, and took off down the alley. Only then did Michael flick the blade against his thigh to close it, and put it back in his pocket.

Glasses and Brit looked at him uncertainly, apparently confused by what had just happened. “So, uh… Are you gonna rob us?” Glasses asked.

Michael shook his head. “Nope. Just figured you might appreciate not getting beat to a pulp just for shits and giggles.”

“Oh. Well, uh, thanks! We owe you!” Glasses took another look at Michael then. “Oh, hey, you came by our booth this morning, didn’t you?”

Michael shrugged and flicked his hood back up. He hadn't actually planned out any further than getting the thugs to back off. Strangely enough, he was a lot more comfortable (and used to) facing down three gang-bangers than talking to normal people. And he didn't think he could remember a time when someone had said ‘thank you’ to him. He took a step back, preparing to walk away.

“He’s right, you were at our booth this morning,” the Brit said.

Glasses glanced at the Brit and back at Michael. “But you don’t actually have any clue who we are, do you?”

Michael shrugged again. This was retarded. Only he would risk his life to save a couple of idiots from a beating but then be too embarrassed to talk to them. “Look, I was just there for the free shirt, ok? Sorry.”

“It’s fine. We still owe you, big time. I’m Ray, this is Gavin.” Glasses, or Ray, rather, held out his hand.

A little uncertainly, Michael shook his hand, and then Gavin’s as it was held out. “No problem. Look, uh, I gotta go, ok?” They looked like they wanted to protest, but Michael had done his good deed for the day. No reason to stick around and make himself look like a fool. He nodded at the two boxes lying forgotten on the pavement. “You might wanna grab your shit and get back inside. Not a great neighborhood, here, in case you hadn't noticed.” He waved at the two before they could say anything else, jogged over and hopped the fence, and then headed down the alley, opposite the direction the thugs had taken.

Once he was out of their sight, he slowed down. That had to be one of the dumbest things he’d ever done. Yeah, he was a pretty damn good judge of threat level, but even he was wrong sometimes. If they had turned out to be dumber than average gang members, rather than wannabes, or if one of the morons had had a gun, there was a damn good chance he’d have been bleeding or dead right about now. He fingered the scar on his cheek. Been living on the streets for more than half his life, and he still didn't fucking know when to walk away.

Whatever. Maybe his good deed would net him some karma. Still shaking his head at his own stupidity, Michael headed toward the burnt-out warehouse that was his current flop.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael walked through the streets, distracted by thoughts of the day’s events. As he got closer to his destination, the shitty neighborhoods and run down strip malls were replaced by dingy warehouses, some still in use, some abandoned, and some only a front for gang dens or drug operations. This was normally far too dangerous an area for a loner like Michael to crash, but a few years ago he’d had an incredible, and unusual, stroke of luck. He’d learned at a very early age that the only way to stay out of the gangs, while also not getting shot, was to know the city inside and out. If you didn't have a gang to back you up, you needed to know who controlled which streets, what gangs were currently feuding with one another, the locations and times that alleys became dealer hang-outs, and so on. When Michael wasn't scrounging for food or searching out a safe place to sleep for the night, he was walking the streets, keeping an eye on the major players, and learning anything he could about the various underground outfits operating in the city. 

One of the many warehouses here had been a front for a gang moving drugs. From the street it just looked like an average warehouse, storing who-knows-what, but around the back there was a trap door. Michael only knew about it because he had been lurking in the area and had happened to see a gang moving a shipment of drugs in. A few months after that, the warehouse had been burned to ground. Whether it had been an insurance scam, or retaliation from a different gang, Michael didn't know. But although 90% of the building was nothing more than blackened timber and rubble, the back wall above the trap door was mostly intact, if heavily damaged. When it became clear that no one had any plans for the warehouse, Michael had checked the trap door and found that it led to a small basement room. For some reason, whether it was because the room was essentially just a concrete box, or because it was underground, the fire had left the room totally untouched. While a cement basement underneath a burnt warehouse was not your typical dream home, for Michael it was perfect. Nobody wanted anything to do with the demolished building above—the original owners had either died, abandoned the place, or thought the room had been destroyed with the rest of the warehouse. And though it didn't have any electricity or heat, it protected him from the elements and even had running water. It was cold as fuck in the winter, right in the middle of major gang territory, and a mile away from anywhere he could scrounge for food, but as long as no one knew about it, he had a way to keep clean and a safe place to sleep out of the rain and snow.

Michael had been staying there for a few years. Before he’d found this little haven, he’d slept in alleys and behind dumpsters, on park benches and under bridges. He’d spent winters constantly on the verge of freezing to death, and even when the elements weren't trying to kill him, gangs, police, and starvation were a constant threat. This room had been a gift from the gods, and probably the only reason he was still alive after so many years on the streets. Michael spent a lot of time and effort making sure no one ever found his den. The trap door was partially hidden behind some brush, and Michael made sure to only enter or exit when it was dark and no one was around. He never used lights at night, even in winter when a small fire would have made all the difference, out of fear that someone would spot the light shining through the edges of the trap door. He’d managed to keep his haven hidden for years this way. His luck wasn't the best, however, and apparently the fates had decided that today was the day it was going to run out. 

Michael approached his place distracted. Thoughts of Ray’s welcoming smile intermingled with internal rants at himself for getting involved when he knew better, which were in turn interrupted by thoughts of how stupid he must have looked to them, running away before even introducing himself. He moved the brush aside and grabbed the handle of the trap door. Just as he was lifting it, a spotlight swept over and past him and, before he could react, came back to rest directly on him. He had a split second to recognize his error: he hadn't circled the block to make sure he was alone, and a patrolling cop car was now stopped not 10 yards away. Then instincts kicked in and he was running. He heard the car doors open and a cop shout, “Stop!” but he was already gone. Interactions with cops never turned out good, and Michael had spent years perfecting the art of escape. He headed out of the warehouse district, making random turns and detouring through alleys to make sure that, assuming the cops tried to pursue him, they’d never catch up.

Michael came to a halt, panting, in an alley more than a mile away. “Fuck!” He punched the wall next to him, not caring that he’d just split open a knuckle. He could not believe how badly he’d just fucked up. He’d just lost everything except for the clothes he was wearing and the backpack he kept on him at all times. The thought of having to go back to sleeping behind dumpsters flashed through his head, and he punched the wall again, driving out a rising tide of fear with sheer rage. Maybe it was still salvageable. Maybe the cops wouldn't find the trap door, or maybe they wouldn't care. He would just have to go back in the morning and see what happened.

A cold wind gusted through the buildings, cutting right through his worn out hoodie. God damn it. It was only September, but the temperature was already dropping to uncomfortable levels at night. He slipped off his backpack and dug out the free shirt he’d gotten from the Achievement Hunter booth. He stared at it a moment before putting the shirt on over the one he was wearing and re-donning his hoodie and back pack. He bet the guys who’d given him the shirt were somewhere warm and comfortable tonight, not sitting in an alley freezing their balls off. He slumped down against the wall of the alley, cursing under his breath and resigning himself to a cold and probably sleepless night.

~

When the sun rose, Michael was still sitting in the alley. He’d been able to sleep somewhere with four walls and a solid ceiling for almost 4 years. Being out in the open at night, knowing he had nowhere safe to go, shook him more than he wanted it to. He’d spent the night wide awake, twitching at every noise, worried that if he let himself fall asleep he wouldn't wake up fast enough to defend himself. When it was finally light enough to see, he decided there was no point in stalling, and headed back to the industrial side of town.

When he got back to his burned out warehouse, he knew it was hopeless. The trap door was open, with police tape cordoning off the area, and a cruiser parked in front of the warehouse. Even when the police eventually gave up interest, with so much attention being drawn to the area, he would never be able to go back to his den safely. He was so fucked. He had some essentials in his backpack (keeping some necessities on him at all times was a lesson he’d learned a very young age—you never knew when you were going to have to bail on a place you thought was safe) but everything he’d painstakingly collected over the years was gone. It hadn't actually been much, mostly a few extra pieces of clothing, enough blankets to make a decent sleeping area on the cement floor, and a stash of non-perishable food that he had slowly built up to help him survive when he was too cold or injured to go scrounging. But surviving on the streets, even with a reliable shelter, was hard enough that every little item had been more valuable than gold. It was already fall, and only a month or two away from winter, and he had no shelter, no supplies, and no plan. 

Michael walked away from the little room that had been his only shelter for 4 years. He was cold, tired, and hungry. Trying not to think about how screwed he was, Michael headed out of the industrial area. At least he should find something to eat. He’d worry about searching for a new shelter later. He knew he’d already taken a few too many risks in the last 24 hours, but he wasn't in the mood to dig through dumpsters. There was a 7-Eleven back on the other side of town where he could shoplift some food. He didn't like to shoplift unless he was pretty damn certain he wouldn't get caught; he’d somehow gone all these years on the streets without being arrested, and he didn't want to break that record. The clerks there were pretty apathetic, however, and even though there were a couple of security cameras, nobody filed a report or checked the cameras just to catch a guy lifting a couple of dollars’ worth of food. Shoplifting some fresh food sounded like the way to go this morning.

He trudged through the streets, hood up. It seemed like there was a storm coming. The wind had only gotten worse through the night, and the temperature had not warmed up any with the daylight. Typical. The first storm of the season would come when he’d just lost his only shelter. He was going to have to find somewhere else to stay fast. As cold as it was in a cement room with no heat, sleeping out in the open was a hundred times worse. Not to mention more dangerous. He reached the 7-Eleven, opened the door, and realized the fates weren't done fucking him over yet.

The fucking 7-Eleven was being robbed. Not 3 feet from where Michael was standing just inside the doors, a man with long, dirty hair and grimy clothes was standing at the counter, waving a gun around and shouting demands at the clerk who was shakily handing him a plastic bag full of cash. He was obviously strung out on something, movements abrupt and erratic, waving the gun around like a lunatic. Adrenaline abruptly coursing through him, Michael tried to decide whether he could break for the doors without the guy noticing and shooting him in the back. Before he could move, the guy grabbed the bag of cash, screamed something unintelligible, and fired a round into the ceiling. The clerk shrieked and dropped down to huddle on the ground, and the drugged out thief began to turn around, apparently intending to flee the scene.

As soon the gun went off, however, Michael reacted. He surged forward; the only thought in his head was _neutralize the threat_. Before the guy finished turning around Michael grabbed his gun hand from behind, wrenching it down and violently twisting until the guy lost his grip on the gun. At the same time, he grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of the guy’s head and kicked the back of his knees. As the robber’s knees buckled and he started to fall, Michael slammed his head down on the counter. Nose bleeding and probably broken, the guy groggily tried to stagger back to his feet, and Michael slammed his head into the counter again. This time the guy went limp, and Michael let him fall into a heap on the floor. It was over in a matter of seconds. There was a reason nobody who knew ‘Mogar’ wanted to pick a fight with him. Michael had been fighting for his life since he was just a kid. He avoided fights when he could, but if he was forced into action, he never hesitated to put his opponents down hard. 

Before he could even step back, Michael heard sirens approaching. Either the clerk had managed to dial 911, or someone else had heard the gunshot. Either way, Michael had about 30 seconds before the cops showed up. He looked at the unconscious guy, the clerk still huddled behind the counter, and the gun lying on the floor amongst a scattered handful of cash. There was not a chance in hell this would turn out well for him. He turned and ran, dashing out the doors, across the street and down an alley.

He slid to a stop behind a dumpster, thoughts racing. Even though he hadn't really done anything wrong, the cops would still be looking for him, if for no other reason than he was a witness and he’d fled the scene. And though he’d had his hood up when he entered, it had fallen when he’d taken down the robber. They’d be able to get a description out. He was still close enough to hear the sirens as the cops arrived at the 7-Eleven. He was not safe just wandering the streets; he needed somewhere to go where he could either hide or disappear into a crowd.

Where could he go to get out of the open? Goddamn it! Once again, the loss of his only safe haven hit him. Everything was fucking harder when you had nowhere safe to go. Michael stepped out from the behind the dumpster and took a second to get his bearings. He realized he was only a few blocks away from the convention center. The convention was still going on—he might to be able to sneak in there and spend the day lost in the crowds. Hopefully by the time the place closed down the cops would no longer be actively looking for him… 

Fuck it. He didn't have a lot of choices at the moment. Convention center it was.

~

Michael hopped the fence behind the convention center and made sure the back lot was clear before taking up position in the same hiding spot behind the truck from the night before. He shook his head at his shitty luck: being here is what had started this whole mess in the first place. Now here he was again, sneaking back in, this time during the middle of the day when it was a lot easier to get caught. He didn't have a choice though. He couldn't think of anywhere else that offered a better place to lay low for the day. 

He made it inside without incident, but that was as far as he got before his streak of truly awful luck struck again. He had just walked out of a door marked “Staff Only” and was heading for the crowd when someone behind him said, “Hey, you! Stop!” For a very brief moment, he considered running (which is what he usually did if he had the bad luck to get caught) but with the violence in the 7-Eleven, there was a good chance the cops were looking for him. He couldn't afford to make a scene or draw any more attention to himself. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. 

He turned around with his best ‘confused and innocent’ expression. “Yes?”

“That area is for staff only! What were you doing back there?” The guard had a scowl on his face and his hand on his radio. 

“Oh, my bad. This is my first convention. This place is so big, I totally got turned around. I was looking for the bathrooms, sorry. Can you point them out for me?” Michael needed to get away before the guy questioned why he wasn't wearing a badge.

“No.” Fuck. The guard eyed him up and down. This was not looking good. “Where is your badge?” And there it was, the question for which he didn't really have a good excuse. Michael kept up his innocent and confused expression, but inside he knew he was fucked. Maybe if the guy wasn't a total asshole he’d just get kicked out. Surely there was no need for the guy to call the cops, right? 

“Huh? Oh, it’s right here…” Michael made a show of searching inside of his hoodie for a badge he didn't have. The guard did not look impressed. “Oh man, I thought I put it on this morning. I must have forgotten it. Sorry. I’ll head back to my hotel right now to go get it.”

Michael turned to leave, and the security guard grabbed his shoulder. It was all Michael could do not to turn around and clock the guy. “No. You shouldn't have been able to get in without a badge. I know your type, you probably snuck in with a bunch of friends! Fucking kids, always sneaking in without buying a pass. You have to pay to get into the convention, you are trespassing by being here right now!” The guy was right in his face, not quite shouting, but on the verge of making a scene. 

Michael was trying to come up with a response that wasn't 'Fuck off, asshole' when someone called out just behind him. “Hey, uh… M! There you are!” Michael turned around to see Ray, the skinny guy with black hair from yesterday, approaching. “You forgot your badge this morning. Geoff has it for you at the booth.”

The security guard looked confused. “You have a booth? Is this guy with you?”

Ray grabbed the exhibitor’s badge hanging around his neck and waved it at the guard. “Yeah, I’m with Achievement Hunter at booth 115. M is with us.”

Still scowling, the guard let go of Michael’s shoulder. “He needs to wear his badge at all times. If I see him again without one, he’s going to have to leave.”

Ray nodded. “No problem. We’ll just go get it now, thanks.” He grabbed Michael by the elbow and headed off before the guard could say anything else. 

Michael was seriously confused, but went along with Ray. “Uhm…?” He wasn't sure what to say to the guy that had just saved his ass. He appreciated it, but couldn't think why the guy would come to his rescue like that.

Ray looked at him with a smile. “Looked like you could use a hand, there. Sorry about the ‘M’ thing. You didn't give us your name last night, and I kinda doubt it’s ‘Mogar.’”

Michael blushed a little bit. “Uh, no, my name’s Michael.” He shrugged the arm Ray was holding, uncomfortable with the contact, and Ray let go. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why did you cover for me? You don’t know me.”

Ray’s eyebrows went up. “It’s the least I could do after you saved our asses last night.”

Before Michael could answer, they came up to the booth. Gavin and the tattooed guy from yesterday were standing at the table along with a big bearded guy that he hadn't seen before. There was a line just as long as the one yesterday. As Ray walked past the line and pulled Michael behind the table, Gavin saw them and his eyebrows went up. “Ray! Hey, you found the guy from last night!” He turned to Tattoos. “Geoff, hold on a sec, I’ll be right back.” Tattoos, or Geoff, apparently, nodded, and Gavin kind of bounced over to them as Ray held open a curtain blocking off the back part of the booth and ushered Michael through.

The back part of the booth held a couple of chairs and a bunch of open boxes with t-shirts, posters, and DVDs in them. Once they were through, Ray let the curtain fall and Gavin turned to Michael. “I didn't catch your name last night, in the commotion of you saving our arses and all.”

“Oh, uh, I’m Michael.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, fingers naturally curling around the switchblade he kept in his right pocket. He didn't think he was actually in any danger here, but he was off balance, and not sure what was going on. Living on the streets, Michael was a total loner. Most of his interactions with people involved defending himself; he couldn't remember a time when someone else had come to his rescue, and he didn't remember what it was like to just talk to someone who was neither a threat nor a victim. 

Ray turned to Gavin. “Hey, do we still have that free badge we were gonna give away? The guy who won never showed up to claim it, did he?”

“Nah, I don’t think he did. Let me go ask Geoff.” 

Michael glanced at Ray as Gavin disappeared back through the curtain. “You don’t have to… I mean, I can just leave…?” He couldn't actually, he needed to hide out in the convention center as long as possible, but he didn't like to ask people for anything. Partially because he’d spent a long damn time looking out for himself and hated when he was reduced to asking for help, and partially because in his experience, no one ever gave you anything for free. Everyone wanted something, everyone was in it for themselves. 

Ray plopped down on one of the chairs. “Look, man. If you hadn't come along, Gavin and I would have gotten the shit kicked out of us at best, could have been robbed and killed at worst. We definitely owe you a lot more than a badge we’re not using anyway.” 

Gavin came back in time to hear that last part. “Bloody hell, you stood up for us despite being outnumbered three to one! Ray’s right, we owe you a lot more than a badge.” He held out the badge. Michael didn’t take it right away, glancing at Ray and then studying Gavin’s face, trying to see what the catch was. Every instinct he had said that there had to be a catch, they had to want something from him. But if they were lying, or trying to con him, then they were the best actors he’d ever seen. All he could see in their faces was gratitude. Gavin just kept holding out the badge until Michael took it. “Look, the convention center closes at 7 tonight. The whole group is going out to dinner tonight. Why don’t you meet us here then, and come to dinner with us?”

“Uh…” Michael started to shake his head and say, ‘no thanks’, but Ray interrupted him.

“Please, dude? Seriously, we really do appreciate your help last night, and we want to introduce you to the rest of the guys. Let us buy you a meal as thanks.” He looked totally earnest, eyebrows raised in appeal. 

Michael wanted to say no. He couldn't imagine why 2 totally normal guys, especially guys well-known enough to have their own booth at a convention, would want to hang out with trash like him. But he hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday morning, and he still didn't know what he was going to do now that he couldn't go back to his warehouse. He didn't have a lot of options, and in the end, he couldn't afford to turn down free food. “Okay. Sure.” 

Ray immediately broke into a smile, the same warm and good-natured smile that had caused Michael to intervene yesterday, and Gavin clapped him on the shoulder. “Sweet! See you at 7!” 

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” Michael just really hoped this wasn't another mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/18/14: I hope to have the first 5 chapters of this up in the next few days. Those chapters are already written and just need to be edited again. After that, however, I won't be able to update this quite so often. Since the second chapter is going up only a few hours after the first one, just wanted to give anyone interested a heads up. I actually started writing this a few months ago. So far I seem to get a new chapter done every 3 - 4 weeks, but this summer is proving to be pretty busy, so I can't promise anything.


	3. Chapter 3

Michael spent the rest of the day wandering around the convention center. It was weird to not have to constantly be on the lookout for security. Several times he debated leaving. He really should start looking for somewhere to stay. Before he’d found the warehouse basement, he’d constantly had 4 or 5 places staked out where he could sleep. But it had been years since he’d needed to find temporary shelters like that, and he’d fallen out of the habit of keeping track of which alleys had the best protection from the wind, which abandoned buildings were safe to stay at, and which park benches he could crash on for a night without getting harassed by police. Knowing he had a place to sleep had meant he could spend more of his time scrounging for food, keeping an eye on and avoiding gangs, and trying to get ahold of supplies for winter. He was still pissed that one moment of distraction had cost him the only safe place to sleep he’d ever had, as well as everything he’d managed to squirrel away. Now he was starting over with nothing and only a few weeks before it got dangerously cold. He was going to need to hit the streets and start figuring shit out, preferably sooner rather than later. 

But in the end, he stayed at the convention center. The incident at the 7-Eleven worried him. As far as he was concerned, he'd only acted in self-defense, but he knew that cops never sided with guys like him. He figured that staying out of sight for as long as possible would probably be a good idea. On top of that, he was fucking starving. Hunger was pretty much a constant feeling for him, but he usually managed to get food of some sort every day. Sometimes it was shoplifting, a lot of the time it was stuff from dumpsters, rotten produce that grocery stores threw out, or various other stuff that he’d rather not think about, but even the handful of calories he was used to surviving on was better than nothing. He hadn't eaten anything yesterday, however, and the chaos of today meant he still hadn't. The promise of not just free food, but hot, fresh, free food was enough to keep him hanging around despite his doubts and suspicions towards the ‘Achievement Hunter’ guys. 

At 7 pm, as convention security started ushering people out of the center, Michael made his way back to the Achievement Hunter booth. Ray and Gavin were nowhere to be seen. There were three guys at the table now, a blond guy he’d never seen, the bearded guy from earlier, and Tattoos—Geoff, if he remembered the name right. He hesitated a few feet away from the booth. Ray and Gavin were probably just in the back…right? But he didn't know these guys. Maybe he should just abandon this idea after all.

Before he could turn away, Geoff noticed him standing there. “Oh, hey, are you Michael?”

Michael shrugged uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, that’s me. I was supposed to meet Ray and Gavin here…?”

“Yeah, I think they just ran to the restroom real quick. They should be right back.” Geoff gestured Michael closer, and when Michael approached, held out his hand. “I’m Geoff. I appreciate you saving their scrawny asses last night.” Michael shook his hand, and Geoff waved at the other two men. “This is Ryan, and that’s Jack.”

Michael awkwardly shook their hands as well, his mind scrambling for something to say. What did normal people do when introducing themselves? Most introductions in Michael’s life were closer to, “Hey, Josh, kick that hobo’s ass!” than a polite handshake. He settled for mumbling, “Uh, nice to meet you.”

He was saved by the appearance of Ray and Gavin. Ray smiled when he saw Michael. “Hey, you made it! So, where do you wanna go to eat?”

Michael couldn't remember a time when he’d ever eaten in a restaurant, and he didn't think making a recommendation based on which places threw out the least-nasty left overs at the end of the night was a good idea. “Uh, I’m kinda broke right now. Wherever you wanna go is fine with me.”

“No worries, the meal is on us. Seriously, we do owe you for last night.” Gavin clapped him on the shoulder, and Michael did his best not to flinch. He definitely wasn't used to people touching him. “Geoff, why don’t we go to that place a couple of blocks down from the hotel? I think their burgers were pretty good.”

“Sure.” The convention center was just about empty now. Geoff tilted his head and everyone trailed after him as he walked towards the back.

The bearded one, Jack, spoke up as they exited the building. “We’ll have to take the van. Somebody didn't book our rooms soon enough, so the only hotel that had enough rooms open is a few miles away from the convention center.”

“Hey, I’m just a lowly pleb. It’s Geoff’s fault!” Ray said.

“Yep. He never trusts us with anything, therefore it can’t possibly be our fault.” Gavin agreed.

Jack laughed at this. “If we trusted you to book us hotels, we’d end up sleeping in the van, Gavin!”

Geoff snorted. “Gavin, you’re an idiot. And don’t look at me, dude! Burnie didn't tell me we were going to this damn convention until the very last minute. Also, I’m the boss. I shouldn't have to make reservations anyway. Why don’t we have a secretary?”

“Well, Rooster Teeth has an office manager. You just never remember to ask her to do anything.” That was Ryan, the blond one. “Which is probably a good thing, because if I was her, I’d hate to have to put up with a bunch of clowns like us.” 

Michael stayed quiet as everyone laughed. Despite the pseudo argument, everyone was smiling, and no one seemed to actually be angry. The easy friendship all 5 guys seemed to share was totally foreign to Michael, who was more used to bravado, trash talking, and straight out fights.

When they got to the van, Geoff punched Gavin on the shoulder when he went for the front seat. “Dude, let Michael have the front. No way he should have to pile in the back with the rest of you idiots. Besides, the back seat is still full of boxes, so either you or Ray is gonna have to sit on Jack or Ryan’s lap anyway.”

Michael wanted to protest that he didn't need any special treatment, but he definitely did not like the thought of cramming into such close quarters with the other guys. As Gavin flipped off Geoff and went back to the back, Michael mumbled, “Uh, sorry. Thanks, man.”

“No worries. Geoff’s right.” Gavin good-naturedly waved off the apology. Michael got into the front seat as the other 4 clambered into the back.

“I don’t mind doubling up with Ray, but I’m not letting Gavin sit on me. For as light as you are, you have the boniest ass I've ever seen.” Jack said.

“Agreed.” Ryan was sitting behind Michael. He was uncomfortable with the taller man behind right behind him, but it was definitely better than being in the back, crammed in hip to hip with the rest of them.

“You are fucking bony, Gavin.” Ray said. “Jesus, get in and shut the damn door. I feel like a fucking 6 year old sitting on Jack’s lap.”

“Alright, alright! Calm down!” Gavin slammed the van door shut.

“Calm down, calm down!” Geoff said in a really strange fucking accent. The others laughed as Gavin also chimed in, “Calm down, calm down!” in the weird accent. What the fuck? These guys seemed cool, but definitely a little weird. 

The banter in the back continued as Geoff put the van in gear and headed out of the parking lot. “Oh, Michael, would you mind putting your seat belt on? We’re already bending the rules with Ray doubling up back there. We might as well have everyone else who can, buckle up.”

“Uh, sure.” Michael glanced around. He had not been in a car since he was… Fuck. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been in a car. How fucking retarded was that? Fucking 20 years old, and he didn't think he’d ever had to put a seat belt on. He tried to look around his seat without being too obvious about it. Where was the seat belt?

Ryan’s quiet voice right behind him made him jump. “It’s kind of in a weird spot in this van. Here.” A hand appeared between the door and his seat on the right side, holding the buckle. Michael couldn't tell if that was true, or if the guy was just humoring him. Either way, he supposed he appreciated the guy not drawing attention to Michael’s stupidity.

He grabbed it and mumbled, “Thanks.” A quick glance at Geoff showed him what he was supposed to do with it, and after only a little fumbling, he managed to buckle in.

They drove for about 15 minutes, Michael quiet while the other guys chattered away. When they arrived at the restaurant, everyone piled out and followed Geoff in. Geoff, Jack and Ryan all appeared to be about the same age, but it seemed like Geoff was in charge. He’d said something about being the boss too, hadn't he? And they’d all been running a booth at a gaming convention. What the hell did these guys do for a living?

They ended up at a round table in the back of restaurant, Michael sitting between Ray and Jack. The waitress came to take their drink orders, and Michael debated what to get while everyone else ordered. Geoff got a whiskey and coke, Jack got a beer, and Ryan, Ray and Gavin got sodas, Gavin apparently under protest. “I’m 20 years old for gods’ sake, I should be able to have a bloody beer!” 

“Sorry bud, drinking age is 21 in the good old US of A. You can have a soda.” Geoff said, laughing. 

Michael, now that he thought about it, wasn't even 100% sure exactly how old he was. He knew he was 20-ish, but he didn't know the exact date of his birth. As far as he could remember, he’d never had any birthday parties when he was really young, and then he’d been on the streets, where birthdays were about the last possible thing anyone gave a fuck about. Either way, he’d never had an ID, so he couldn't have a beer even if he wanted one. He debated having a soda, but he hadn't had anything to eat in almost 48 hours. He didn't want to risk drinking something super sugary with his painfully empty stomach. In the end, he just ordered water.

“Are you sure? Like we said, food is on us. You can have anything you want.” Geoff commented as the waitress walked away.

“Water’s fine. I don’t really drink a lot of soda.” Geoff shrugged and picked up his menu. Michael followed suit, and for the first time since he’d had been introduced to them all, there was quiet as everyone focused on picking what they were going eat. The menu was 6 pages, with dozens of items, many of which Michael didn't even recognize. He’d been in school long enough to learn how to read before his shitty life went from bad to worse, thank god. But most of his diet consisted of whatever he could scrounge from dumpsters, shoplifted fruit or pastries from the local grocery store, and occasionally whatever they were serving at the local soup kitchen if he was lucky. What the fuck was “Mango-Chile Tilapia” or “Margherita Flatbread”? His brow furrowed in frustration as he read over the menu again. He wanted to get the most out of his one chance at good free food, but how the fuck was he supposed to pick something out of this mess?

Ray glanced at him, took in his frustrated scowl, and then turned to the others. “Hey, what is everybody getting? I can’t decide what I want.” Michael looked at him, suspicious, as everyone chimed in with their choices. Ray didn't seem to notice. It seemed like most of them were getting one of the 6 different kinds of burgers the place offered. “Hmm. Guess I’ll just go with the bacon cheeseburger. It’s pretty hard to go wrong with the classics.” Ray said.

Ray glanced at Michael again as Geoff and Gavin argued over whether the “Whiskey River BBQ” burger or the “Chili Chili Cheeseburger” would be better. Michael would have felt like world’s dumbest human being, except that for the second time one of these guys had covered for Michael’s ignorance without drawing any attention to it or being at all patronizing. He really didn't get why these guys were being so nice to him. He looked back down at the menu and muttered a very quiet, “Thanks.”

Ray’s “No problem,” was equally quiet, but Michael couldn't help but see the guy’s gentle smile out of the corner of his eye. When the waitress came back for their orders, Michael followed Ray’s lead and ordered the bacon cheeseburger.

Michael spent the rest of the meal pretty quiet. The burger was the best thing he could ever remember having, but he ate it slowly and carefully. He was starving, and wanted nothing more than to scarf it down as fast as possible, but he knew from painful experience that if you went from eating nothing at all to eating too much, too fast, you’d spend the rest of the night throwing it all back up. He definitely didn't want that to happen—he needed every calorie he could get. So he forced himself to take small bites, chewing each one carefully, savoring the best food he'd had in years. Fortunately nobody commented on how slow he was eating, and it wasn't even all that noticeable anyway, since the other guys were spending as much time talking as eating. They somehow managed to make him feel like a part of the group despite his silence, talking and laughing at each other without prodding him or pushing for him to speak. Michael mostly just listened to the banter and, despite not understanding most of the references, found himself smiling more than he could ever remember.

Gavin did get him to speak up once when he responded to something Jack said by throwing a fry at him and saying, “Stop being such a mingy little spaff!” 

That was the third or fourth time he’d said something totally ridiculous, and Michael couldn't help but exclaim, “Dude, what the fuck language are you even speaking!?”

The other guys laughed and Gavin made an exaggerated face of hurt. “Nobody around here appreciates my excellent wit. Anyone can curse. It takes a special bit of creativity to come up with the amazing phrases that I do!”

“You’re ‘special’ all right…” Geoff said, amidst yet more laughter.

Michael smiled, oddly pleased to be able to make these guys laugh. He didn't think he’d ever experienced anything like this: just sitting around, joking and laughing with a group of close friends. True, he wasn't really one of them, but the guys were so open and down-to-earth, he just couldn't quite feel out of place. He savored the camaraderie, trying not to think about what he would have to go back to when the meal was over. 

~

The restaurant was just about empty, and it was full dark outside by the time the meal was finished. But even as slowly as Michael ate and as much time as they wasted goofing around, the meal had to come to a halt at some point. The waitress came and collected all of their plates, and Geoff paid the bill. As he followed the rest of the guys outside, Michael was hit with a blast of icy wind and a face full of cold rain. Apparently the storm he had suspected earlier had finally arrived. Well, fuck. He guessed he was lucky that he’d been able to stay inside for as long as he had. The rest of the night was going to be cold and wet.

Geoff stopped, took in the weather, and then ushered everyone back into the breezeway of the restaurant. “How about we not stand in the rain like a bunch of idiots until I figure out what we’re doing.” He turned to look at Michael. “Thanks for coming out with us, dude. Where can I drop you off?”

Michael was a little taken aback. “Uh, you don’t need to drop me off anywhere. I can walk from here.”

No one in the group seemed to like that idea. Jack gestured towards Michael’s ripped jeans and worn out hoodie. “You can’t walk around in the rain dressed like that, you’ll freeze. Trust us, it’s not a hassle, we can drive you back to your place, even if it’s not that far.”

Michael frowned. “Don’t worry about me. This isn't even that bad. I can walk.”

Geoff took a step around Michael, blocking the door, and effectively placing Michael in the center of the group. “Sorry, dude, no way. We wouldn't let a total stranger walk around in this weather, much less someone directly responsible for saving my friends’ lives. Just let us take you home.”

Michael tensed, hating the sudden feeling of being out numbered and surrounded. This was it, wasn't it? This was where he’d find out what these guys really wanted behind all their talk of, ‘oh, we owe you.’ He took a single step back, all the room he had to maneuver in the small room, putting his back to the wall. “You can’t make me go anywhere with you.”

“Bloody hell, man, we don’t want to take you anywhere, we just want to make sure you get home safely! Don’t be such a knob!” Gavin said.

Frustrated, Michael spoke more truthfully than he intended to. “I don’t _have_ anywhere to go, asshole! Here, the other side of town, it really doesn't fucking make a difference!”

There was an abrupt silence as what Michael meant sunk in. He stood, back against the wall, fists clenched, and glared at them. Geoff was the first one to speak again. “Well, fuck. Why don’t you come back to the hotel with us, then?” Michael did not react the way he’d expected him to, however.

Michael’s face paled, freckles standing out in stark relief against his suddenly chalk white skin, and then flushed red as he growled. He pulled the switchblade out of his pocket, and braced his feet in a fighting stance. “Oh fuck that! I fucking knew this nice guy shit was all an act! I may be homeless, but I’m not a fucking whore! The only way you’re getting me into your hotel room is if you drag my unconscious body there. And I can tell you right fucking now, five to one or not, if you come at me, you’re going to bleed.”

They all took a step back, as much as they were able to in the small room, at the sight of the knife. Geoff was the first one to recover. He held his hands out to the side, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Whoa, fuck, dude, that is _so_ not what I meant. Not at all!”

“We have no intention of hurting you, or making you do anything you don’t want to.” Ryan added.

Geoff spoke again. “Look, that didn't come out the way I meant it. What I meant to say was that Gavin and I are sharing a room, Jack and Ryan are sharing a room, and Ray has his own. I was going to say you could crash with Ray, but I can see how you wouldn't be comfortable sleeping in the same room as a total stranger. How about this? Ray can sleep on the fold-out couch in mine and Gavin’s room. We’ll give you the key to his room, and you can crash there for the night. The door has a deadbolt you can lock from the inside. I promise you, no one will bother you.” 

Michael lowered the knife, but didn’t put it away. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

Ray shook his head and stepped forward. “We don’t want anything from you.” He held out what looked like a credit card with 'Marriott Hotel' printed on it. “Look, here’s the key to my room. Number 125, at the Marriott hotel about 2 blocks east of here. We didn't mean to come across as pushy. Geoff just gets protective of people he likes, ok? You seem like a really cool guy. You helped us out—we just want to return the favor.”

Michael hesitated. He didn't trust anyone, but if this was some kind of con or trick, he couldn't see what they thought they were going to get out of it. He glanced at each of their faces, searching for the truth. Despite the fact that he’d pulled a knife on them, none of them looked angry or ready to fight. He could only find worry, concern, and hope in their expressions. Ray didn't move, just held out the card steadily.

Geoff let his hands drop to his sides. “Sorry about pushing you, ok? I really didn't mean to freak you out. You don’t have to come with us. We’ll leave now, and let you make up your own mind. But please take the card. If you decide you don’t want to stay out in the rain tonight, come to the hotel. Our rooms are on the west side of the building. The card will get you through the outer door as well as into Ray’s room, number 125. I swear, no one will be in the room if you decide to come.”

Michael hesitated for another second, and then took the card from Ray. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all we ask. We’ll leave now. Remember, room 125, at the Marriott two blocks from here.” Geoff said.

Jack added as they left, “I know you don’t know us, but we’re not bad guys, I promise. And we can tell, neither are you. You deserve somewhere warm to sleep. If you don’t take the room, we won’t hold it against you. But please think about it.” With a gust of cold wind, the guys left, leaving Michael standing alone, holding the small plastic card.


	4. Chapter 4

Michael stood outside the hotel, soaked to the bone and shivering, and stared at the card the guys had given him. 

He’d argued with himself until the restaurant had closed, and he’d had to go out into the rain. Then he’d spent another 30 minutes kind of aimlessly wandering, still debating whether or not to take the Achievement Hunter guys up on their offer. Nobody was this fucking nice, nobody would just give the key to their empty hotel room to some random homeless guy. There had to be some kind of catch, right? They had to want something. But despite his instincts telling him that this was too good to be true, nothing the guys had said or done gave any indication that they wanted to take advantage of him. 

In the end, exhaustion and the rain had made the decision for him. He hadn't slept in over 36 hours, and he was getting too fucking tired to try and figure out everyone’s motives. On top of that, the rain refused to let up, slowly soaking through his hoodie and leaching all the warmth from his body. Fuck it. Even if this was some sort of convoluted plan to steal his kidneys or something, he’d rather be bleeding and warm than soaking wet and freezing. 

He looked at the card in his hand. It was the same shape and size as a credit card, but it was plain white, with the hotel name on the front and a magnetic strip on the back. How the fuck was this a key? It didn't even have the room number on it. He’d just have to hope he’d be able to figure it out when he got to the door. On the plus side, in pouring rain around 10 or 11 at night it was unlikely anyone would be around to see him make a fool of himself.

He went to the west side of the building like Geoff had said, and found a side door. There was a place to swipe the card on the door jamb, with a red light above it and a helpful little diagram showing which way he should swipe the card. He swiped it, the light turned green, and he heard a click. A cautious tug on the door revealed that it was now open. Well, fuck. That was easy enough. He wondered how expensive these cards were. If he hadn't decided to come, if he’d just taken off with the card, would they have gotten in trouble for losing it?

He stepped inside, intensely grateful to be out of the cold rain. Even the beanie underneath his hood was soaked. The short hallway he was in met a longer hallway a few steps away, making a T. On the wall in front of him was a small label: “ ←110 – 120 | 120 – 130 →” He turned to the right, walking until he found the door labeled 125. He stopped before the door, still not sure that this was a good idea. He glanced around, but the hallway was empty and quiet. He pulled out his switchblade. If the room wasn't empty, he wanted to be prepared. And if it was empty, well, then there wouldn't be anyone to see his paranoia. 

The device on this door was different from the one on the outer door, but it still had a helpful little label on it. Michael slid the card in, pulled it out, and heard the click of the door unlocking. He turned the handle as quietly as he could and opened the door an inch or so, listening intently. There was no sound from inside the room. Holding his switchblade at the ready, he opened the door completely, still not stepping inside. The room was dark, but there was no movement. He reached in and flipped the nearest light switch. A lamp near the door turned on, illuminating two full size beds, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with two chairs. A door near the back of the room looked like it lead to a large bathroom. Other than the furniture, the room was completely empty.

Michael relaxed enough to lower the switchblade and stepped inside. Maybe the Achievement Hunter guys had been telling the truth. He still had no idea why they were bothering to help a loser like him, but the empty room made him trust them a little bit more, despite his doubts. He still made a circuit of the room, checking the closet, underneath the beds, and the bathroom. Maybe it was a little paranoid, but if he was going to sleep, he needed to be 100% certain there was no one else here. Satisfied that no one was waiting for him to let his guard down and jump him, he went back to the main door, locking the deadbolt and fastening the chain. If anyone did try to force their way in, they’d have to break the door down, making more than enough noise to wake him.

He tossed his backpack down on one of the beds. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but he was freezing, and who knew when he’d get another chance to take a real shower. He hated feeling dirty. It was one of many things he really hated about living on the streets, and was dreading having to go back to. His room under the warehouse had had a utility sink with running water. He’d been able to wash up every day with a rag and a bucket he’d swiped from someone’s yard, and he’d been able to at least rinse his hair out daily, even if he hadn't always had soap. He didn't even want to think about all the ways he was screwed now that he’d lost that place.

It took him a good five minutes of twisting knobs before he figured out how to turn the damn shower on. Once he finally got the damn thing working, he turned the water up as hot as it would go. He couldn't even remember the last time he’d had a hot shower—every once and while he managed to come up with a few dollars to buy a day pass to a rec center, but those showers never really got above lukewarm. While the shower warmed up, he stripped out of his soaking wet clothes, draping them over various pieces of furniture to dry. He grabbed the soap and shampoo off of the counter and stepped into the shower. 

“Fuck! Son of a bitch! Motherfucker!” The soap and shampoo hit the tub floor as he franticly grabbed the shower head, forcing the spray onto the wall and off of his body. “Jesus Christ!” Apparently the hot water at fancy hotels was way fucking hotter than the hot water at shitty rec centers. It took another several minutes of turning knobs to get the water at a comfortable temperature. Once he was able to stand under hot, but no longer boiling, water, he forgot all about getting clean. He just stood underneath the spray, letting the water pour over him. He closed his eyes as the chill that had soaked into his bones with the cold rain slowly faded.

He didn't move again until he found himself nodding off while standing up. As nice as the heat was, he still needed to get some sleep. He quickly scrubbed down and washed his hair, reluctantly stepping out of the shower once the last of the soap had washed down the drain. Drying off with the softest towel he’d ever seen, he contemplated the damp clothes strewn about. On the one hand, it would be nice to let them dry out completely before having to wear them again. On the other hand, he didn't know when someone might show up to kick him out of the room. In the end, he decided to compromise. He’d wear his jeans and the dryer of the two t-shirts he owned, but would leave his hoodie and shoes off. If someone somehow barged into the room past the locked door he wouldn't be butt naked, but he’d still be able to sleep more comfortably than he usually did.

Putting his backpack, hoodie, and shoes within arm’s reach by the bed furthest from the door, he turned off all but the bathroom light and crawled underneath the blankets. After only a few minutes of tossing and turning, however, he was back up. He’d spent most of his life sleeping on concrete; this bed was so soft it felt like he was sinking in, suffocating in the over-sized pillows. Fuck that. He moved his stuff over to the corner of the room, grabbed the blankets off of both beds, and piled them on the floor. He crawled back into the blankets, leaving one folded up underneath him for extra padding, the other pulled up all the way over his head. Finally comfortable—more comfortable than he could ever remember being—he fell asleep almost immediately.

~

A knock on the door the next morning had Michael instantly awake and instinctively reaching for his switchblade. He assumed it was security coming to kick him out, but as he threw the blankets aside and reached for his battered shoes, Ray’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Hey, Michael? If you’re in there…the hotel has free breakfast in the lobby until 10:30. We’re heading down there now, if you wanted to join us. We’ll probably be there for another half hour or so.” There was a pause, but Michael didn't hear any footsteps walking away. “Hopefully we’ll see you down there in a bit…?” Another pause, and then, softer, “I really hope you’re in there…”

Michael listened intently, not moving as Ray walked away, footsteps fading. He really could not wrap his head around these guys being so nice to him. He was just a piece of street trash, some random homeless guy they’d met by chance. They’d taken him out to dinner, given him one of their hotel rooms no questions asked, and now they were offering more free food. And for all that Michael knew that _no one_ ever did anything without wanting something in return, none of them had asked a single thing of him. He couldn't figure out their angle, and trying to was giving him a headache. He guessed at this point he might as well just take them at their word and worry about the consequences later. Fuck, it wasn't like he had much to lose anyway.

He finished stuffing his feet in his shoes and slipped on his hoodie. Grabbing his backpack, he went back to the bathroom and snagged the (now half empty) soap and shampoo bottles, as well as a mini bottle of mouthwash from the counter. Going through the room, he found a pad of paper and a pen that also got tossed into his bag. He debated taking a rag and one of the big towels, but that would take up a lot of room now that he didn't have a base to stash stuff at. Also, he found he didn't want to get the guys in trouble for having too much stuff missing from the room. 

There was a duffel bag on the floor between one of the beds and the wall that he hadn't seen last night. It had to be Ray’s stuff. He hesitated, but in the end, didn't touch it. If he’d come across anyone else’s stuff he would have gone through it and taken anything useful or valuable, but he couldn't bring himself to do that to Ray. Normally he didn't give a flying fuck about petty theft, but the Achievement Hunter guys not only hadn't screwed him over yet, they’d gone out of their way to help him out. The least he could do at this point was not steal their shit. 

Making sure the key was still in his pocket, Michael left the room. Now that he thought about it, that was just one more thing he couldn't understand about them. Not only had they just given him a key to their hotel room, they just assumed he wouldn't steal all of their stuff and run? Either they had some sort of hidden motives that he just wasn't smart enough to figure out, or they were the most naive people he had ever met.

Michael made his way to the front of the building, slowing down as he approached the busy lobby. There was a short line of guests checking in at the front desk, a small group of people chatting on a couch to the left, and around a dozen people milling around the buffet and tables set up in the open area to his right. Before entering the open space he came to a complete halt. This was not his kind of place. Almost everyone here was dressed in business clothes, so his worn out hoodie, ratty backpack, and holey jeans would definitely stand out. And there were exactly the wrong number of people in the rooms: too many for him to sneak by without anyone seeing him, but too few for him to disappear into the crowd.

Before he could change his mind and walk away, he heard a loud and cheerful, “Micoo!” behind him and someone clapped him on the shoulder. Michael flinched and jerked around, but recognized Gavin in time and managed not to deck the Brit.

“Whoops, sorry boi, didn't meant to startle you. I’m always running late in the morning, so I’m the last one down. We should grab some food; I think the others are sitting in the corner over there.” Gavin pointed, and sure enough the rest of the AH guys were sitting at a table in the far right corner of the dining area. Reminding himself that he didn't really have anything to lose, and that he had decided to just roll with whatever these guys threw at him, Michael followed Gavin over to the buffet. 

He loaded his plate up with stuff he thought was unlikely to upset his stomach. Last night he’d had more food than he usually ate in three days, and while he’d managed to keep it all down, his stomach was still uneasy. He wasn't going to turn down any other free food he was offered, but he also wasn't going to push his luck. He got two slices of toast and a little packet of jelly, as well as a small scoop of eggs and some bacon. He also managed to stuff two bagels into the front pocket of his hoodie when no one was looking. And when he spotted the juice bar, he couldn't resist filling up a large glass with orange juice. Juice was a very, very rare treat for him. You could almost always find water, a soda now and then was easy to lift, and alcohol was surprisingly easy to get ahold of. But fresh juice? Even if he lifted a bottle, it’s not like he had anywhere to store it so it wouldn't go bad, and drinking an entire bottle of juice at once was an excellent way to make yourself very sick.

Trailing a little behind, he followed Gavin over to the guys’ table and was surprised to be greeted enthusiastically. “Michael! We weren't sure if you were going to take us up on the room or not.” Jack said while scooting his chair over to make more room at the table.

“I’m glad you did!” Geoff added, and grabbed another chair for Michael. Gavin plopped down next to Geoff, and Michael, somewhat apprehensively, sat down between the Brit and Ray.

Ryan and Gavin also expressed their pleasure that he decided to join them; Ray smiled warmly at him and said, somewhat quieter than the others, “I’m really glad you came down.”

Michael blinked, not used to people being glad to see him. “Uh, thanks. I really appreciate you letting me crash here last night.” He fished the white card out of his pocket and set it on the table near Ray. “Here’s the key back. Uh, your stuff’s still in the room. I didn't mess with it or anything…”

Ray didn't touch the key card, but chuckled a little. “Yeah, I totally forgot about my stuff still being in the room when I gave you the key. I had to borrow one of Gavin’s shirts this morning.”

“Good thing you both wear a women’s small!” Geoff laughed and Gavin flipped him off. Just like dinner last night, Michael stayed quiet, observing and smiling way more than he was used to as the group joked, laughed and poked fun at one another.

As everyone finished eating, Michael began to shift uneasily. Despite the fact that he considered himself a loner, he’d really enjoyed hanging out with these guys—he wondered, if he’d had a chance at a real life, would he have had friends like these? But he knew that pretty soon here he'd be parting ways with this strange group. These guys would go back to whatever it was they did, and Michael would go back to trying to survive on the streets with nothing. He couldn't even really be mad at them for being the indirect cause of him losing the one safe place he had. They’d given him the best night’s sleep and meal (2 meals!) that he’d ever had, and made him laugh more in 12 hours than he probably had in his entire life. But he wasn't great at social stuff, and wasn't looking forward to the awkwardness that would come when these guys finally washed their hands of him.

Before he could decide whether or not to beat them to the punch and just bail, Geoff spoke up. “So, Michael, do you want a ride to the convention center? The convention runs today and tomorrow, and we aren't heading back to Austin until Monday morning. If you wanted to, you could hang out with us this weekend. We could always use some help with the booth—Gavin always somehow manages to make a huge mess out of the merch.”

“I do not—!” Gavin started to protest only to be interrupted by the other four practically shouting, “Yes, you do!”

Gavin made an overdramatic pouty face, and Geoff ignored him. “As I was saying, you could help out around the booth, and we’ll cover lunch and dinner. Or we still have that extra pass and you can check out the convention. If you don’t have anything better to do this weekend?”

Ray spoke up. “And I don’t mind crashing on the fold-out couch in Geoff and Gavin’s room. If you let me grab my stuff out of the room, you can stay there tonight and tomorrow night.” 

Michael blinked at them, at a loss for words. He wasn't sure whether to be suspicious, irritated that they thought he needed their charity, or grateful for the chance to put off sleeping on the streets a little bit longer. The five guys just looked at him, hopeful but apparently not willing to pressure him in to anything. Fuck it. Hadn't he decided earlier to just roll with whatever these guys came up with? He was going to end up on the streets again soon enough anyway. He might as well enjoy the free food and place to sleep while he could. “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“Woo hoo!” Gavin shouted and threw his arms up in the air.

Geoff rolled his eyes at Gavin, but smiled at Michael. “Glad you’re willing to put up with us. Come on, we should get going. We need to be at the booth before the convention center opens for the day.”


	5. Chapter 5

Michael woke up early on Monday morning. He was still sleeping on a pile of blankets on the floor of the hotel room—he’d tried the bed a couple of times, but just could not get used to the suffocating, sinking feeling of the soft bed after a lifetime of sleeping on concrete. Besides, he’d be back to the streets tonight. Why get used to too much comfort when it was only temporary? The Achievement Hunter guys were going back to Texas today. His little vacation of pretending to be a normal guy with real friends would be over after breakfast. Glancing at the clock, Michael saw that that was still a couple of hours away, though. Whether it was because he didn't usually sleep much anyway, or because anticipating the end of this strange weekend made him too tense to sleep in, he was up even before the hotel started serving breakfast, much less whatever time the AH guys would decide to crawl out of bed.

He debated leaving now. Just slipping the key card under the next door over where Ray, Gavin and Geoff were staying and taking off, skipping any awkward goodbyes. But he didn't. Didn't even get out from under the blankets, the ones more comfortable and warm than anything he could ever remember touching, much less getting to sleep under. One, he might as well get one more free meal while he could. Two, and more importantly, though he hated to admit it, he enjoyed the AH guys’ company too much to give up even just a few more minutes with them. He was pretty sure he was still just a charity case to them—guys like them surely didn't just hang out with trash like him for fun—but they felt like friends. As much as he tried to keep his distance, as much as he didn't want to trust anyone, their cheerful easygoing nature made it damned hard to keep up his walls. In just two days, he felt like he’d gotten to know them and felt like a member of the group. 

He’d started off skittish around the guys—fuck, for that matter, he was still skittish. He didn't like to be touched, he didn't like having people stand behind him, he didn't like being surrounded, he didn't like being anywhere where he didn't have at least one clear escape route. But the guys were an affectionate bunch, particularly Geoff and Gavin, and despite his attempts to keep them at arms-length he’d been pulled into the group almost right away. The gents and Ray respected his distance enough to restrain themselves to the occasional shoulder bump or clap on the back, but Gavin didn't know the meaning of personal space. Despite Michael shrugging him off or flinching away every time, Gavin couldn't seem to help throwing his arm over Michael’s shoulder, or grabbing his arm, or draping his legs over Michael’s lap several times a day. And despite his flinching, Michael found that he liked that easy affection, even when uncomfortably directed at him. For his entire life, or at least as much of it as he could remember, the only time another human had touched him had been to hit, kick, or otherwise cause him pain. He enjoyed the feeling of a friendly hand on his shoulder far more than he expected or wanted to.

Dinners had also been remarkable. They’d gone out to casual sit-down restaurants both Saturday and Sunday night. He’d been encouraged to get anything he wanted, though he’d still stuck to cheaper and simpler options like burgers, and dinner had usually lasted at least an hour as the guys chatted and joked around. And though the other guys had certainly talked way more than Michael, they’d still made him a part of the group. They’d asked his opinion on things—and actually seemed to care what he had to say!—included him in their jokes and even gently teased him. They hadn't pried into his past but had been more than willing to answer any questions he had the guts to ask. It had been surprisingly nice, if incredibly foreign and weird, to be able to talk and laugh with friends. Or at least guys who acted like friends, Michael reminded himself. He was just a piece of trash from the street; they were probably just being nice. It was dangerous, and too painful, to hope that he actually had friends. 

In addition to the affection and friendship they offered, they also seemed to trust him far more than he trusted them. In fact, they trusted him more than he trusted himself. It had started off with small things, like when Ray came to grab his bag out of the room. He’d grabbed the bag and tossed it in Geoff’s room without even checking to see if anything was missing. As they walked back down the hall towards the others, Michael couldn't help but say, “Don’t you want to make sure I didn't steal any of your stuff?” 

Ray had raised his eyebrows at him. “Did you steal any of my stuff?”

“No! You’re letting me stay in your room—I’m not gonna repay you by swiping your stuff! But you don’t know me—” 

Ray had cut him off with a smile and a shrug before he could finish his protest. “You said you didn't take anything. We’re good to go.”

Then once they got to the convention center, Geoff had pulled Michael aside in the back part of the booth. “Here’s a weekend pass to the convention. You can check out the booths and walk around, or you can hang out back here. Pretty sure Gavin or Ray has a 3DS around here somewhere you can play if you get bored or something. It’s just gonna be Jack and Ryan at the both for the next hour or so, holler at them if you need anything. Gavin, Ray and I have to go to a panel. See you in a bit!” And then he’d left. Michael had been left alone in the back, Jack and Ryan busy signing things and greeting fans at the front of the booth. 

Michael had just looked around at all the boxes of merch and shaken his head. Much as he liked these guys, and even though he only owned a handful of necessities he kept in his backpack, he couldn't imagine leaving his stuff with someone and just walking away. He couldn't figure out why Geoff trusted _him_ , just some hobo from the street, unsupervised around all this stuff, even if he would have to walk right past Jack and Ryan if he decided to take off with something. In the end, he’d neither stolen anything nor left to walk around the convention. The boxes of t-shirts, posters, and other merch had been in total disarray from someone, presumably Gavin, digging through them and tossing stuff all over the place. Michael had spent the next hour and a half meticulously organizing everything, stacking t-shirts by color and size, organizing posters so you didn't have to dig through a huge pile to find what you needed, and stacking boxes out of the way so it was easier to walk around the booth.

He’d done it mostly as a way to repay the guys, a way to work off at least a tiny amount of what he owed them since they’d bought him dinner, given him a place to stay, and were apparently planning on feeding him again. But Geoff had been vocally appreciative of his efforts, thanking Michael with a clap to the shoulder that made him flinch. Jack had also thanked him, commenting that it was nice to have some else around who wasn't a total slob. Despite himself, Michael had blushed at the praise. “Good job” and “thanks” were not something he was used to hearing. It had felt good; had made him feel, at least for the moment, like he was a useful part of a team.

But the thing that had really thrown him for a loop had happened Sunday afternoon. The last day of the convention had been crazy busy. The line at the booth was longer than ever, Ray and Gavin were making guest appearances on a panel, and by 1 pm the guys still hadn't gotten a break long enough to go grab lunch. Michael had been in the back of the booth sorting t-shirts when Geoff came back. “Hey, we’re never gonna catch a break up here. Would you mind grabbing us all some lunch? I think I saw a Five Guys Burgers down the street. Just grab a bunch of burgers and fries—I don’t think anyone’s too picky here. Don’t forget to grab something for yourself, too!” He’d pulled a few $20 bills out of his wallet, handed them to Michael, and gone back to the front of the booth without waiting for a reply.

Michael had been more than a little stunned. Other than one time when he’d pawned an a Xbox that he’d grabbed from the moving van of a bunch of frat boys too drunk to be paying attention, this was more money than he’d ever had at once in his entire life. And Geoff just trusted him to not take the money and run? Not sure whether to be disdainful of the guy’s gullibility, or warmed by the guy’s trust in him, he’d done as Geoff asked, coming back with 6 burgers and several orders of fries. When he’d handed Geoff the change and receipt, Geoff had said, “Thanks,” stuffed the change in his pocket, and tossed the receipt without checking to make sure Michael had given him the full amount back. 

Michael had once again been stunned. Yeah, he hadn't actually taken any money—although he couldn't say the thought hadn't crossed his mind—but Geoff didn't know that. Geoff didn't know _him_. How… _why_ did he just blindly trust Michael? And as much as he didn't want to admit it, it had felt good to be trusted. To be around people who didn't just automatically assume he’d stolen something because he was just a piece of trash from the street. To be treated like a friend, and not a victim, or a target, or a threat. Lying in the pile of blankets, for the first time in a long time, Michael felt like he was on the verge of tears. Watching these guys walk away was going to fucking hurt. Going back to having nothing, to being nothing, was going to be so much worse after this weekend.

Fuck it. He didn't want to think about that yet. Angrily swiping at his eyes, Michael glanced at the clock. Despite all his moping, he probably still had time for a shower before the guys woke up. Time to stop mooning around like a lovesick girl. Who cares if this weekend was going to make life even more miserable than usual by comparison. He’d get over it. He’d survive. For better or worse, no matter how shitty things got, he always survived. 

~

Like the past two mornings, Ray eventually knocked on Michael’s door and invited him down to breakfast. The morning meal was decidedly more subdued than it had been the previous two days. The quiet seemed out of place for the normally rambunctious group, and the longer the meal went on, the tenser Michael got. Obviously the guys were quiet because they were trying to think of a polite way to tell Michael that they were leaving now, and he needed to fuck off. He wasn't good at social stuff. He could handle just listening as the guys joked around, but the nervous quiet was going to drive him nuts. 

Michael argued with himself silently as he finished the last of the food on his plate--though it wasn't the last of the food he had on him. (Knowing this was going to be his last good meal, he'd nicked two bagels, several packets of jelly, and a juice box, all of which were now hidden in various pockets.) This was ridiculous; when had he turned into such a pussy? The guys had real lives they had to get back to, lives that didn't involve him. And while he dreaded the thought of walking back out on the street and going back to trying to live with nothing, it wasn't like he hadn't done it before. His basement room hadn't been anything more than protection from the weather, really, and before he’d found it, he’d lived on the streets for years. He could do it again. Putting off the farewells wasn't going to change the reality of his shitty life. And if he had to sit here any longer while the guys kept glancing furtively at him, he was gonna lose it.

He swallowed the last of his orange juice and cleared his throat. “So I guess this is it, huh? You guys are going back to Texas today. I…” He paused for a moment, not wanting to come across as clingy or emotional or whatever. But, fuck it. So what if they decided he sounded like a bitch. It’s not like he’d ever see these guys again. “I really appreciate you guys taking me in this weekend. I had a really great time.” He snorted. “Probably the best three days of my life. So, thanks. Look me up if you’re ever in Jersey again.”

He moved to push his chair back and leave, but Gavin grabbed his shoulder to stop him. “Hold up, you can’t just bail on us like that!” Michael managed not to flinch, but tensed up at the contact. What was with this Brit and being so hands-on!?

Ryan glanced from Michael’s face to Gavin’s hand on his shoulder, and said, “Jesus, Gavin, you can’t just keep grabbing people. One of these days someone is going to punch you, and you’re totally going to deserve it. I thought you were British anyway. Shouldn't you be more reserved?”

Gavin stuck his formidable nose up in the air. “I’m a friendly person, Ryan.” He did take his hand off of Michael’s shoulder, though. 

Geoff waved his hand at Gavin, dismissing him. “Ignore the idiot. Look, Michael, before you go, we discussed this last night, and decided we wanted to…give you an invitation, I guess. We’re all roommates in a pretty big house down in Austin. Living together saves a hell of a lot on rent, and since we all work together, it also makes carpooling to work pretty damn easy. You fit in with this fucking oddball group really well. Not everybody gets our sense of humor, and not a lot of people are willing to put up with all five of us at once.”

“For one thing, after about five minutes most people are done with Gavin’s idiocy!” Jack added.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m a very charming bloke. People love me.” Gavin protested.

“You keep telling yourself that, Gav…” Ray teased, but at the same time smiled and bumped Gavin’s shoulder with his own. Michael had seen the guys do that a lot over the past two days. They gave each other a lot of shit, but they never really meant it.

“You gotta admit, he is pretty great to have around for entertainment purposes.” Ryan interjected. 

Ray and Jack laughed, and Geoff waved his hands again, exasperated. “Alright, alright, shut up. You guys make having a serious conversation impossible! Anyway. Michael, you seem like a really good guy, maybe down on his luck a little bit. So we were wondering, if you don’t have anything keeping you here in Jersey, if you’d be willing to come stay with us in Austin. We've got an empty spare bedroom you could stay in as long as you like, and we’d be glad to have you.”

Michael froze, eyes wide and staring at Geoff. He had to have heard that wrong. “What?”

“If you have ties here in Jersey, we understand. But if you don’t, at least consider coming back to Austin with us. We've got plenty of room, and we’d be more than happy to lend a hand until you get back on your feet.” Michael moved his stare of disbelief to Jack as he repeated Geoff’s offer.

Ray also chimed in, “It really would be cool if you’d come stay with us.”

Michael glance from face to face in the group, shocked, thoughts racing. This offer had to be too good to be true, but then…this whole weekend had been like that. These guys seemed to laugh in the face of everything Michael thought he knew about people. And they all lived together? He briefly wondered how much deeper their relationship went than just being friends, but almost immediately decided he didn't care. They were already so different from anyone else he’d ever known he couldn't even begin to predict them. If anybody could pull off that kind of relationship, it was these guys, and if they were more than friends, it would still be less astonishing to him than them being interested in _him_. He was nobody, nothing, a piece of trash from the street. And they were offering him a place to stay—fuck, maybe he was blowing shit out of proportion, but it sounded like they were offering him a _home_. 

He couldn't… There was no way this could be happening. Stuff like this didn't happen to him; people didn't just spontaneously offer him a place to stay and a way out of his current shitty life. Especially not guys like these, funny and friendly and kind, in an odd sort of rough-and-tumble way. Either he was misunderstanding them, or they didn't understand what he was. “I don’t… Fuck! No, I don’t have any ties here, but I don’t have anything to offer you guys. I've got no job, no money, no skills! I've lived on the street since I was a fucking kid, I’m just… I’m nothing! I don’t understand what you would want from me.”

Most of the guys just looked sad at this, but Geoff looked furious. At the look on Geoff’s face, Michael unconsciously hunched his shoulders a little. Despite his easy-going nature, Geoff was still undeniably the one in charge, and in just two days Michael had gained a great deal of respect for him, and knew that he didn't ever want to get on the man’s bad side. “Hey!” Geoff snapped, turning aggressively towards Michael, who couldn't help but flinch. “You are _not_ nothing! I've only known you for two fucking days and I can already tell you you’re intelligent and funny, and willing to stand up for strangers even when you’re outnumbered. I don’t wanna fucking hear you say you’re nothing!”

Michael’s chest tightened, and he was finding it a little hard to breathe. He was so fucking far out of his depth here. The least insulting thing he’d ever been called was ‘scary’ or ‘dangerous’. No one had ever stood up for him, or defended him like that. A warm hand covered his, which was clenched into a fist on the table. He turned to his right to see Ray looking at him earnestly. “We don’t want anything _from_ you, Michael. We just want you. We like you, we like hanging out with you, and it seemed like you didn't mind hanging out with us either. We’d like to be your friends, and we don’t want to just leave you here. If you don’t have anything holding you here, and you don’t have anywhere to stay, then come stay with us. No strings attached, just friends offering to help a friend get back on his feet.”

His chest tightened further, the unfamiliar feeling of hope making his heart pound and his hands sweat. Michael looked at each of them again, searching for motives, searching for the lie, but all he could see was sincerity. He should be afraid, he should walk away. He didn't really know these guys, no matter how much they felt like friends. For all he knew, they’d be totally different people once they had him vulnerable. And he didn't have much here, but at least he knew the city, knew the people here and the dangers. If he went with them, if— _when_ they got tired of him, he’d be alone in an unfamiliar city without his reputation to protect him. But on the other hand, this was his chance to get out of Jersey. If nothing else, when he ended up on the streets again he’d be somewhere where he wouldn't have to worry about freezing to death in the winter. A place to stay for at least a while, and a ticket out of Jersey: that alone should make the risk worth it, right? 

He swallowed, looked around one more time at the guys, and made a decision. He would say yes, but only for the chance to get the hell out of this shitty city, the chance to get the hell out of Jersey. He couldn't bring himself to hope for anything more. If he let himself believe that he could have friends, could have a home—that hurt too much. When he fucked up and they kicked him out, it would hurt so much worse if he let himself fall for the delusion that he might have had a chance at more. 

Despite that, despite trying to convince himself that he was using them to escape and nothing more, he had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. “Ok.”

Ray, and the others, looked suddenly hopeful. “Ok…?”

“Ok. I’ll come with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have pre-written. From here on out it's probably going to take quite a bit longer to get new chapters up. I definitely have more for this story (even if I don't have any clue just how much more) but summers are pretty busy for me, so I don't know how much time I'll have to write.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read the story so far! This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction, so I really truly appreciate the kudos and views. If you have any comments, criticisms, requests, or suggestions, please let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is significantly longer than previous ones (sorry?) because every time I tried to break it up, the chapter just felt incomplete. It also may not be quite as polished as some chapters but it’s reached the point where further editing is no longer discernibly improving quality, so I’m just gonna go ahead and get it posted. If it does not meet expectations, I do apologize, and can only say that now that this perhaps slightly awkward transition is done, hopefully future chapters will be better.

The Achievement Hunter guys had flights out of town that afternoon, but having an extra member in the group derailed the original travel plans. Geoff had been all for trying to find an extra seat on the flight when Ryan had had the foresight to ask Michael if he had a photo ID.

“Nope.” Honestly, he didn’t even have a fake ID. He knew where you could get one, but they weren’t great quality and he’d never really had a use for one.

“Well, fuck. You can’t fly if you don’t have an ID. So much for that idea.” Geoff grumbled.

Michael was torn between snapping at the older man— _sorry, I’m usually more worried about not getting shot or starving to death than I am with paying my taxes or getting a passport!_ —and apologizing for being a pain. After all, the guy had offered his own home to Michael, and not thirty seconds later, Michael was already making his life more difficult. He settled for a mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Nah, dude, not your fault. I just didn’t think to ask. Guess you and I are gonna be driving.” Geoff answered.

“That’s a long trip to make with only one driver. Why don’t Ryan and I drive down with you? That way we can trade off and you won’t have to stop to sleep.” Jack suggested.

“Road trip! Top! We haven’t done a road trip in ages!” Gavin cheered. 

“Wait, wait, you and Ray should still fly back. We’ve already paid for the plane tickets and they don’t give refunds. It’s gonna cost us enough as it is for those. We might as well not waste two more tickets if we don’t have to. It’s not like either of you can drive anyway!” Geoff said. Michael winced internally. How much was he costing these guys? And were they expecting him to pay them back—with cash or otherwise? He hadn’t gotten that vibe off of them so far, but that might change once they finally realized just how useless he was. He’d already made his decision though, so he tried to push aside the sudden worry that the guys kicking him to the street in a foreign city might not be the worst case scenario.

“Aww, come off it. We can’t get a refund but they’ll put most of the cost towards our next flights as long as we stick with the same airline. We fly all the damn time. We can pay a little fee.” Gavin argued.

“All right, if you think the airline will give us credit for the cancelled tickets, you can call them while I see if we can just use the van we’re already renting for the trip.”

“Bollocks. Walked right into that one.” Gavin groaned as Geoff cheerfully clapped him on the shoulder.

Geoff turned to Ray. “Ok, I’m assuming you’re in on the road trip idea too, Ray?”

“Sure, sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how much fun six dudes in a van for 25 hours is gonna be, but whatever floats your boat. Gavin, you call the airlines, I’ll get renting the van figured out, and if the rest of you could get everything packed up, that’d be great. This is gonna be a long ass trip, so the sooner we get started, the sooner we can get home.” Everyone nodded at Geoff’s orders and grabbed the trash left from breakfast, tossing it out on the way to do their assigned tasks.

Michael stood a little more slowly, hesitant. He’d pretty much committed himself to staying with the group as long as they’d have him, but it was obvious that they’d been together for a while and worked together pretty seamlessly. He was the new guy, the third wheel—or the sixth wheel, in this case—and he was unsure whether they wanted him to try and help or to just stay out of the way.

Ray spoke up before he could really start to worry about what he should be doing. “Hey Jack, Michael and I are gonna grab some snacks for the road. We’ll still have to stop for dinner or whatever, but you can’t have a road trip without a cooler full of junk food.”

“Good idea. Ryan and I can pack up the van. Don’t get anything too big though, it’s gonna be a tight fit as it is with all six of us and our stuff. You know where you’re going?” Jack replied.

Ray turned to Michael. “You probably know this city better than we do. Is there a grocery store or gas station we can walk to from here?”

Michael blinked, a little surprised to be consulted. “Uh… Yeah, there’s a little mom and pop store we can go to just around the block.”

“Alright, I’ll let Geoff know where you’re headed. Text us if you need anything.” Jack waved and headed back to the rooms.

Ray smiled at Michael, and tiled his head towards the door. “Sweet. Lead the way.”

This area was nicer than the places Michael usually frequented, but was close enough to the inner city that he still knew every street and alleyway. He led Ray around the block to a small grocery store on the corner. Once inside, he trailed after Ray who had grabbed a small basket and was tossing stuff inside. When the basket was about halfway full Ray seemed to realized that Michael hadn’t added anything. “You can grab whatever you want, man. I know what most of the guys like, but if there’s something you want, you should just toss it in.”

“Uh, nah, I’m good.” Michael felt a little guilty about how much food the guys had already bought for him, and worried about how much he’d cost them since he couldn’t fly. He didn’t have a way to pay them back, and was already racking up quite the debt. He was still convinced they were going to get tired of him sooner or later—he didn’t want to make it sooner by asking for too much. Not to mention the other, darker, fear he now had that they were eventually going to ask him to pay them back for everything one way or another; he pushed that worry down again, not wanting to think about it since he was already committed.

Ray looked at Michael, taking in his uncomfortable body language and the way he was avoiding eye contact, and stopped in the middle of the aisle. “Hey. You really don’t have to worry about money. We don’t mind buying stuff for you. If we did, we wouldn’t have invited you to live with us. We get that you don’t have a job right now—until you do, we’re not going to ask you to pay for stuff or be mad about buying stuff for you.”

The words were quiet but firm, and Ray was looking right into Michael’s eyes, like he was willing him to believe them. He wanted to, and these guys had given him no reasons to doubt them, but the fact that nobody did anything without wanting something back was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, and wasn’t going to soon forget. “Uh, I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t want to be a mooch—or not any more than I already am. I don’t need any snacks. Fuck, breakfast alone these past few days is more than I usually eat all day.”

Ray looked surprised at that confession. “Damn, dude! Well, you’re definitely going to be eating more than one meal a day with us. That’s nuts. Look, just grab one thing. You’ll make me feel bad if I grab something for everyone but you.” He raised his eyebrows beseechingly at Michael, and fuck if Michael didn’t cave just because of that look.

“Alright. If I see something I want, I’ll grab it.” Ray grinned at his answer, and Michael shook his head. Now he had to come up with something. To be honest, other than the meals the AH guys had bought him in the last few days, it had been so long since he’d had real food that he really didn’t know what he liked. Pretty much anything that wasn’t rotten was a treat.

Fortunately the next aisle they went through was the chip aisle. Hesitating only for a moment, Michael grabbed a small bag of Doritos and tossed it in the basket. Unlike some of the stuff Ray had picked up, Michael actually recognized and liked Doritos. The small bags of chips were pretty easy to shoplift from gas stations, and were one of his favorite treats when he was feeling reckless.

“Oh, cool, you like Doritos? Most of us do, too, we should grab a bigger bag!” Ray put the small bag back on the shelf and grabbed a giant family sized bag. Michael raised his eyebrows at the size of the bag, but didn’t protest. At least now Ray wasn’t spending money on something for him alone.

In the end they headed back to the hotel with a small Styrofoam cooler full of energy drinks and soda, and a bag full of chips, beef jerky, cookies, and a variety of candy. When they got back they found that Jack and Ryan had gotten the van packed and ready to go. The last row of bench seats had been folded down to make enough room to store everyone’s luggage. That left two rows of bench seats open, which would fit three people each, as long as they weren’t too big on personal space, in addition to the driver and passenger seats. Ray managed to wedge the cooler between the two front seats just as Geoff and Gavin came out of the hotel.

“You get everything squared away?” Jack asked.

“Yep. The rental place has a branch in Austin where we can return the van. Gavin is apparently not completely useless, either. Minus a fee, he managed to convince the airline to credit all of our tickets towards our next flights.” Geoff reached over to Gavin and ruffled his hair, saying extremely sarcastically, “Good job, buddy!”

“Bugger off, Geoff!” Gavin knocked Geoff’s hand away, laughing.

“All right. We’re moving pretty quick, here. Is there anything you need to do—people to talk to, stuff to grab—before we leave, Michael?” Ryan asked.

Michael snorted. “Hell no.”

“If you’re sure…?” Geoff asked, but it was obvious he was itching to get on the road. Michael just nodded. “Ok. It’s a 25 hour drive, more or less, down to Austin. If everybody’s ready to go, let’s get the fuck out of here. If we leave now, we should be able to get home before dinner tomorrow.”

Geoff herded everyone into the van—after a minor argument over who should get shotgun first—and then they were on the road. Not exactly nervous, but unable to ignore the fact that he was making a very big and very risky move here—fuck, he was abandoning everything he knew to go live with 5 almost total strangers!—Michael looked out the window, ignoring the rest of the guys in the van. For the first time in his life, he was leaving this shitty city, and was on his way out of this godforsaken state. Maybe other people would have felt regret or sadness at leaving the only place they’d ever lived. But most people hadn’t ended up on the streets when they were ten, spending the next decade or so desperately trying to survive. When they finally left the inner city and got onto the highway, officially further away from where he’d lived his whole life than he’d ever been, the only thought in Michael’s head was _fucking good riddance_.

~

As it turned out, being stuck in a van for long hours didn’t actually do much to lessen the chaos that Michael was beginning to associate with the guys. They started the trip with Geoff driving, and Gavin had gotten shotgun—according to him—as compensation for having to talk to idiot airline people. Jack and Ryan had the middle and Ray and Michael were sitting the very back. With only two people on each bench, it was actually pretty comfortable. Things were calm for about thirty minutes, and then Gavin said, “Alright, Geoff, every morning when you wake up, your bedroom fills with water and it ends up pushing you towards the ceiling to the point where you can’t breathe and you start drowning, like properly drowning, like you’re breathing in water. And right before you stop living it all goes away, and you’re fine. But you can do anything that day and undo it, and it would never have happened. Would you go for it?”

No one, other than Michael, really reacted to the insane question and when Geoff actually started to think about it and answer, Michael turned to Ray. “What the _fuck_?”

Ray laughed. “Nobody knows what the hell is going on with Gavin’s brain. We’ve just learned to roll with it, mostly.”

It was pretty much all downhill from there. The line of bizarre scenarios and questions continued for most of the afternoon, interspersed with other conversations that Michael couldn’t help but laugh at even though he didn’t understand half the things the guys were talking about. Some highlights had included, “For a million dollars, for one year: you know how sometimes after five years of having a tap, it gets a bit leaky, like a constant drip. Your asshole would be a constant leaky tap,” and, “a million dollars, for once a month your dick pisses blood, but it’s really irregular. And there’s no such thing as a knob tampon. So you’re gonna ruin boxers once a month,” as well as a conversation about Ryan and cows that had Michael seriously worried. Fortunately Ryan turned around to argue with Ray for that one, and saw Michael’s horrified face.

“First of all, these guys are absolutely exaggerating—”

“We aren’t! You are a creepy motherfucker, Ryan!” Ray interrupted.

“—and second of all, this is all in a video game. I promise I do not have a giant hole in the back yard with a cow in it.” Ryan tried to reassure Michael. Michael laughed, but also decided to maybe be a little more cautious around Ryan.

They made a pit stop in the late afternoon, filling up on gas, grabbing burgers for dinner, and swapping seats. Michael was content to stay in the very back—he hated having people behind him where he couldn’t see them. Jack took over driving, with Geoff in the passenger seat and Ryan and Gavin took over the middle seats. They’d been on the road for long enough that even Gavin seemed to have run out of ridiculous scenario questions, at least for now. Aside from the brief food fight that started with Gavin trying to throw gummy bears into Ray’s mouth and ended when a stray gummy bear hit the back of Jack’s head and he threatened to leave both lads on the side of the road, it was quiet in the car for a few hours.

When it got dark Ryan apparently had had enough of just watching empty fields pass by, and broke the silence to start telling scary stories. His deep voice filled the car with stories that started off fairly tame but got progressively darker and more brutal. Jack and Geoff mostly ignored him, and Ray had fallen asleep against the window an hour ago, but Michael could see Gavin getting more and more jumpy as Ryan’s stories got creepier. To be honest, if Michael hadn’t been so amused by Gavin freaking out, he’d probably be freaking out too. Ryan had the perfect voice for storytelling, and sitting in a dark car, driving down an almost completely empty highway, did wonders for enhancing his already nerve wracking stories.

About halfway through the third story, Gavin interrupted Ryan. “Alright, that’s enough Ryan. Just stop!”

Ryan laughed. “Come on, Gavin, just let me finish this story. Then I’ll stop. I promise.”

“Ryannnnn…” Gavin moaned, but Ryan just picked up the story where he’d left off.

Gavin was sitting in the seat directly in front of Michael, looking left towards Ryan. When Michael realized that Gavin wasn’t paying attention to anything other than Ryan—he hadn’t looked away for several minutes—he couldn’t resist the urge to screw with the jumpy Brit just a little bit. As Ryan got to the climax of the story, Michael leaned forward and slightly to the right until he was just inches behind the oblivious Gavin. Ryan saw what he was doing, but didn’t give anything away, and even helped out by adding a dramatic pause. Gavin leaned towards Ryan just a bit, fully invested in the story, and right in the middle of the tense silence Michael said, “Boo,” right into Gavin’s ear.

Gavin’s reaction was everything Michael could have hoped for. Gavin screamed—although it sounded a lot more like a bird squawking than an actual scream—and jumped about a foot in the air, flailing his arms and kicking the back of Geoff’s seat. Geoff turned around to yell at Gavin for kicking his seat, Ray woke up with a start, and Michael just fell back laughing uncontrollably, Ryan joining in on the laughter.

Ray took in Michael and Ryan’s laughter, Geoff shouting at Gavin to knock it off and Gavin protesting that it wasn’t his fault, and just shook his head. “What the fuck did I miss?”

Thinking about Gavin’s terrified squawk, Michael couldn’t stop laughing long enough to answer. Ryan was able to speak through his chuckling, but it wasn’t particularly helpful. “Gavin’s an idiot! Oh my god, that was amazing.”

Jack spoke up from the front. “Ryan was telling stories to freak Gavin out, Michael said ‘boo’ and Gavin screamed like a little girl. It’s like driving with a car full of six year olds.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t see him move behind you, Gavin!” Ryan said, once he got his laughter under control.

“I was looking at _you_ , Ryan!” Gavin said accusingly.

“By the way, thanks for the pause there, Ryan. That was fuckin’ perfect.” Michael actually had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.

“Yeah, I saw you lean forward. Your timing was perfect. That was exactly the reaction I’ve been trying to get out of Gavin for the past 30 minutes.”

“Jack’s right, you guys are a bunch of six year olds. I don’t know why the fuck I put up with you.” Geoff chimed in.

“Pfft, think how boring your life would be without us!” Ryan said.

“Yeah, think how much _saner_ my life would be!”

The banter and jibes at Gavin continued until the next pit stop for gas and bathroom breaks. By that time it was pretty late at night, and it was time to swap drivers again. “I’m fucking tired as dicks. I’m taking the back seat to sleep. I don’t care what you idiots do, but try to keep it down for once.” Geoff declared once they were ready to go again. Without waiting for a reply, he got in the van first, climbed into the back seat, and laid down the length of the bench seat, legs curled up and using a hoodie for a pillow.

“Alright, well, it’s my turn to drive. Michael, you wanna take the front seat?” Ryan said.

Michael nodded and headed towards the door, but stopped with Jack spoke up. “Gee, thanks Ryan. Now I have to share the middle seat with the children.”

Michael hesitated. He didn’t want to piss off the older, larger man. Should he offer to sit in the back instead?

But Gavin, already inside the van, spoke up first. “Come on, Jack. How can you resist X-Ray and Vav’s excellent company?”

Jack laughed. “Huh, I wonder. How could I possibly not want to sit next to the world’s two most idiotic super heroes?” Despite his sarcasm he climbed into the van next, Ray clambering in after.

“Oh, just admit it, Jack, you’re our biggest fans.” Ray said. “Besides, it’s late, and you make a really good pillow.”

“Hey!” Jack protested.

“Never mind the idiots, as usual.” Ignoring the other threes’ argument—or joking, Michael still wasn’t 100% sure which was which with these guys—Ryan gestured for Michael to get in the front seat. Michael climbed in, and they were back on the road again, the argument about ‘X-Ray and Vav’, whatever the fuck that was, still going strong.

Eventually the bickering in the back stopped when Geoff reached up and smacked Gavin in the back of the head. “I said keep it quiet, morons! I’m trying to sleep!”

“Oi! Why did I get hit? Jack and Ray were talking too!” Gavin protested.

“Because you were the easiest one to reach. Now shut up.”

Jack chuckled but apologized. “Sorry, Geoff. We’ll keep it down.”

After about an hour of driving down the road in silence, Michael found himself nodding off. He jerked awake, surprised to be so tired when all he’d done was sit on his ass in the car all day.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one feeling tired. “Ryan, do you need us to stay up and help keep you awake?” Jack asked, volume low to avoid disturbing Geoff.

“Nah. I’m a night owl anyway. If you guys wanna crash back there, that’s fine.”

“Ok, I’m gonna go ahead and pass out for a while, then.” Jack said, tilting his head back to rest on the seat and closing his eyes.

“You’re welcome to sleep too, Michael. There’s a lever on the bottom right side of your seat that should lean it back, if you’re interested.”

Since everyone else seemed to be asleep as well, Michael decided to take Ryan up on his suggestion, and started feeling around the bottom of his seat for the lever. It took him a while to find, but eventually he was able to lean his seat back. Sleeping in awkward positions was nothing new to Michael—at least the seat was a lot softer than concrete or a wooden bench—and years on the streets had taught him the value of getting sleep whenever and wherever he could. Within moments of closing his eyes, he was asleep.

~

Unfortunately it didn’t last long. While living on the streets had taught him to fall asleep instantly, it also taught him that you were never more vulnerable than when you were asleep. Despite the basement room that had allowed Michael to sleep for the last few years without fear of being assaulted, he’d never lost the habit of sleeping lightly and waking up at every little sound, ready to fight or run. The first time Ryan reached over to change the radio station Michael woke up instantly, muscles tense, ready to defend himself.

“Whoops, sorry Michael. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Ryan apologized.

Michael took a deep breath and tried to relax, consciously unclenching his fists. “Uh…no problem. I guess I’m just a really light sleeper.” If he was really going to live with these guys, he was going to have to work on that. Being twitchy as fuck may have saved his life more than once when he was living on the streets, but he imagined the guys wouldn’t appreciate it too much if he accidentally stabbed one of them because they startled him.

He turned towards the window, back to Ryan, hoping that he would be able to get some more sleep if he couldn’t see the other man moving. But after a few nerve wracking minutes he shifted again, turning so that he was sitting straight forward, head leaning back against the seat. He didn’t really expect any of them to try to hurt him—he tried to ignore the insidious voice in his head whispering, _at least not until they realize you’ll never be able to pay them back for all the money they spent on your worthless hide_ —but having someone at his back where he couldn’t see them was definitely even worse than them moving around while he was asleep. He’d been stabbed in the back too many times, including once literally, to ever be ok with having someone behind him.

He managed to drift off a few more times, but each time something small managed to startle him awake. Ryan shifting, Ray stretching in the seat behind him; no matter how small the motion, he instinctively interpreted any movement while he was asleep as a threat. At least he managed to stop jumping every time he woke up. His eyes snapped open and he tensed up, but he forced himself to freeze in place until he could identify what woke him, rather than visibly jumping or cringing. After about an hour of this, Michael gave up on the idea of sleep. He sat up, and felt around until he found the lever to put his seat back in a normal position.

“Van’s not exactly the most comfortable place to sleep, is it?” Ryan said sympathetically when he saw Michael shift the seat back upright.

“Yeah…” That had nothing to do with it, but Michael figured he was better off not pointing out that he’d literally slept behind dumpsters before—sleeping in a van would be the height of luxury for him if it weren’t for the other 5 people in here.

Despite Michael’s tossing and turning, the rest of the van had been silent for a few hours. Curious to see how the rest of them were sleeping in the crowded van, he turned around in his seat to look behind him. Geoff was out of sight, lying down in the very back seat, but Michael could hear him snoring faintly. In the middle seat, Jack was slumped down, shoulders even with the top of the bench, head tilted all the way back. He didn’t exactly look comfortable, but Michael could tell from his deep, even breathing that he was totally out. Both Ray and Gavin were leaning in towards Jack, mirroring each other, asleep with their heads resting on Jack’s shoulders. Michael paused for a moment, watching the three of them sleep. They weren’t _exactly_ cuddling, but they were obviously comfortable sleeping next to one another. He wondered again whether they were a couple—couples? What did you call it when there were more than two people? It would be pretty unusual, five guys being together romantically, but Michael had seen weirder combinations on the streets. He imagined it would be awfully nice to have an entire group of guys that you could trust, sleeping next to them without worrying about getting stabbed in the back, maybe even being able to count on them to defend you.

Michael turned back to the front, the image of the guys sleeping in the back stuck in his head. It wasn’t worth wishing for something like that. Guys like him didn’t get things like that. He didn’t know exactly why these guys had offered to take him in, but he couldn’t really bring himself to believe that he was anything more than some kind of charity case to them. Whatever the guys were to each other, it had nothing to do with him.

Next to him, Ryan glanced back at his sleeping friends in the rearview mirror and chuckled. “Personal space isn’t really something the lads are big on.” He said softly to avoid waking the others.

Michael smiled briefly. “Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly.” Looking at Ryan, he wondered if he should just ask about the relationship between the five of them. If he had a choice, Ryan definitely wouldn’t be the first guy he’d go to with a potentially offensive question, but…curiosity was killing him here. And it would be better to know exactly what the situation was sooner rather than later, just so he didn’t accidentally say something that really offended all of them, right…? Fuck it. It wasn’t like he was known for his tact anyway. “Hey, Ryan? So, uh…when you guys said you all lived together… Are you guys _together_ together?”

Ryan turned towards him with one eyebrow raised. He panicked briefly—if he’d interpreted everything wrong, if they _weren’t_ together, then he’d just asked the type of question that would get the shit beat out of you on the streets. _You moron, you knew this was none of your business. You just had to fucking open your big mouth._ His internal rant was interrupted when Ryan finally spoke. “Is there going to be a problem if the answer is yes?” The words were calm and not overly threatening, but something about the way Ryan said it and the look in his eyes convinced Michael he definitely never wanted to get on Ryan’s bad side.

Michael held his hands up. “Hey, nope. Not at all. That was nosy as fuck, sorry. Sometimes I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“I don’t mind you asking. I think the other guys were going to try to keep it under the table until you knew us better, but if you’re going to live in the same house as us, you would have figured it out sooner or later anyway.”

Michael glanced back to where Gavin, Jack and Ray were sleeping next to each other. “Uh, I’d have to be pretty damn blind to not notice that you guys are a little closer than just roommates…” Which was actually funny, because Michael was pretty damn blind, and he’d still noticed.

Ryan chuckled. “Maybe. Honestly, most people only see what they want to see. Polyamory is a little too rare for people to jump to that conclusion very often.”

Michael had no idea what polyamory meant, but he assumed it had something do with guys sleeping together or maybe multiple guys sleeping together. For fuck’s sake, he’d only made it to 3rd grade before he’d ended up on the streets. He really was too dumb to be hanging out with guys like Ryan. Fortunately, Ryan spoke up again before he had to come up with a response.

“Speaking of, though, while we’re out to some of the people we work with, most just think we’re roommates. And the fans _definitely_ don’t need to know that much about our personal lives. We’d appreciate it if you could refrain from mentioning anything about our relationship to others unless we bring it up first.”

“No problem. Actually, I still don’t know what the hell you guys do for a living.” Michael replied.

“Really? Huh, I guess it hasn’t actually come up in conversation yet, has it? We make videos for the internet—the company we work for, Rooster Teeth, does all kinds of stuff, but Achievement Hunter is based on video games. We’ll have to show you some of our stuff when we get to Austin. Mostly we just goof around and act like idiots while playing games, but we have our moments.”

“Seriously? And you guys make a living off of that?” Michael had had a Nintendo when he was really young, before he’d ended up on the streets. He remembered that he’d loved playing it, at least up until his mom had gotten mad at him for something and smashed it as punishment, but he couldn’t imagine how you’d make a living playing video games.

“Yep. It’s pretty much the best job in the world. Like I said, we’ll show you some videos when we get home. It’s a lot easier to explain once you know what we’re talking about.” Ryan shrugged.

“Alright.”

The conversation faded into a surprisingly comfortable silence, and Michael spent the rest of the night staring out the window without really seeing anything. They crossed into Texas sometime early in the morning. He’d missed when they’d officially left Jersey behind as he’d been distracted by Gavin’s crackpot scenarios at the time, and they’d passed through a few other states along the way, but realizing that he was now in Texas, and couldn’t get back to Jersey even if he wanted to, drove home the realization that he’d truly left his old life behind. He wasn’t really 100% sure what to expect, but he knew that living with the guys would be nothing like his old life. If nothing else, for as long as the guys let him crash with them, he’d have a roof over his head, presumably with heat and hot water. That alone was enough to make him want to cheer. But he also knew that he wasn’t really equipped to live a normal life—he was just a street kid with no skills and no real education, and he really sucked at normal social shit. He still didn’t know what the guys would expect of him, or how he was going to handle living with five other people after a lifetime of being alone. The more he thought about it, the more nervous he got, until his stomach was churning from excitement mixed with the worry that he was going to fuck up and get kicked out immediately.

Before Michael could dwell on it for too long, though, Ryan commented that they only had another eight and a half hours of driving before they reached Austin. Michael was a little stunned. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

Ryan laughed. “Yep. That’s one of the things that makes living in Texas a little miserable—half of any given road trip is spent just trying to get through Texas.”

“Damn.” It was kind of hard to be excited when he still had eight fucking more hours of staring at empty road and boring fields.

Not too long after they’d crossed into Texas they made another pit stop, grabbing breakfast and swapping seats. Ryan lay down in the very back seat to get some rest since he hadn’t slept all night. Geoff was driving again and Jack got shotgun, which meant that Ray, Michael and Gavin were all sharing the middle seat. For the most part everyone was too tired and eager to get home for antics. That didn’t stop Gavin from driving Michael up the wall though—sharing the same bench seat meant that he spent the next few hours shoving the Brit off of him. Gavin just couldn’t seem to resist draping an arm or a leg over Michael or leaning up against him whenever he wasn’t paying attention. Michael couldn’t tell if he was actually that affectionate of a person, or if he was doing it just to drive Michael nuts.

Fortunately, by the time it got to the point that Michael was threatening to throw Gavin out of the van if he touched him one more time, it was time for the last pit stop of the trip. Jack took over driving and Geoff let Michael have the front seat (though not without multiple comments about the lads acting like little kids). Michael couldn’t even pretend not to be relieved to be away from Gavin. He liked Gavin, he really did, but he did not like to be touched. Fuck, if it had been anyone _but_ Gavin, he would have knocked their teeth in for fucking with him, but even at his most annoying it was a little hard to be genuinely mad at the Brit.

Ryan finally woke up in the back, and once everyone was awake it didn’t take long before joking, laughing, and bizarre (at least from Michael’s point of view) arguments filled the van again. The last few hours dragged by. As nervous as he was about finally arriving, Michael was more than ready to get the hell out of this van. He would never have imagined that sitting still could be so exhausting, or that sitting for so long even in comfortable seats would make him sore in so many places.

When they finally reached the outskirts of Austin, Michael stopped listening to the conversation in the back (they were back to discussing video games, a topic Michael knew nothing about anyway). It suddenly felt like time was moving too quickly. Up until now, it had seemed like the road trip was never going to end, hours upon hours of staring at empty road made barely tolerable with the laughter and arguments and antics of the Achievement Hunter guys. But now that they’d reached Austin, they were only minutes away from the guys’ house. He was not so sure anymore that he was ready for the trip to be over. That odd combination of anticipation and fear was back now that they were so close to their destination.

After ten or fifteen minutes of driving in the sprawling city, they entered a suburban neighborhood. The houses were nice, certainly far nicer than anything he’d lived in even when he’d had a home, but not too extravagant. There were huge trees throughout the neighborhood, and most of the houses had tall shrubs or hedges lining grassy, well maintained yards. There was probably more green in this little neighborhood than in the entire city where Michael had grown up. He felt decidedly out of place; he was used to concrete and asphalt and crowded inner cities—he didn’t belong in this nice, orderly neighborhood.

Only a few turns later, Jack was pulling in to a long driveway at the end of a block, coming to a stop in front of a large, off-white house. Michael took a deep breath, barely noticing when the guys tumbled out of the van as soon as it halted. This was it. He’d abandoned everything he’d ever known, put his trust in five strangers, and there was no backing out now. He couldn’t decide whether he was thrilled to be out of Jersey, nervous that he was going to fuck this up and get kicked out right away, or afraid of whether the guys would change now that they had him at their mercy and in their own territory.

Gavin shouted, startling Michael out of his thoughts. “Jesus Christ, Gavin, I’m coming! Calm the fuck down!” He hollered back, finally leaving the van and walking towards his new home. Coming here was definitely going to be either the smartest or the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and as always, any comments or constructive criticism would be welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated. I'm honestly not super familiar with what kind of stuff needs to be tagged. If anyone sees anything else that needs to be tagged, feel free to let me know.

Everyone had piled out of the van while Michael was lost in his thoughts. Jack, Geoff and Ryan had grabbed their stuff out of the back and were already on their way inside, while Ray was still digging around in the back of the van, and Gavin was hollering at him from inside the house. Michael had kept his ratty backpack at his feet during the road trip. Grabbing it, he shrugged it on as he headed towards the house. When he got through the front door, the gents were heading up some stairs on the right with various duffel bags and luggage. Gavin was waiting for him just inside the door. “C’mon, Micoo, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Sure, but…are you ever going to say my name right?”

“What’re you on about? I am saying your name right. Micoo!”

“That’s not my name! My name is MICHAEL. You’re saying ‘Micoo’!”

“Exactly! Your name is Micoo, and I’m saying Micoo!”

“No! It’s Michael!”

“ _Micoo!_ ”

Michael was struggling to keep a straight face. He didn’t really give a fuck what Gavin called him, but it was pretty hilarious watching him get all indignant and shout ‘Micoo’ over and over again. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Ray interrupted the pseudo-argument, coming through the front door and tossing a bag at Gavin’s feet. “Jesus, Gavin, at least grab your shit out of the van! And you might as well give up now, Michael. Gavin only thinks he speaks English.”

“I _do_ speak English, you bloody pleb! Damn Americans are the ones that can’t speak the language!”

Michael laughed, and picked up the bag that Gavin was ignoring. “Alright, despite the fact that you don’t speak a recognizable language, you promised me a tour.”

Gavin pouted, but immediately perked up again and gestured wildly to the left. After a small landing area with wooden floors, the house opened to a large room with thick tan carpet. There was a fucking giant TV, the biggest couch Michael had ever seen, a beat up coffee table, and a couple of oversize comfy chairs. One wall had a few built in shelves that were packed tight with what looked like every single video game ever made. “Right. Here we have the lounge—”

“Also, and more correctly, known as the living room.” Ray interrupted.

“—complete with an Xbox, an Xbox 360, and, even though we never use them, a PS3 and Wii.” Gavin continued, ignoring Ray. Michael nodded, even though he didn’t have a damn clue what all of that shit was, but Gavin was already moving on, impatiently gesturing at Michael to follow him.

From the living room you could go right through a short hallway behind the stairs, or left through a pair of double doors in the wall behind the couch. Gavin took him through the double doors to a room with wooden floors and a large table. “Here we have the dining room, right proper—”

“Which we almost never use.” Ray added.

“—and through here we have the kitchen.” Gavin led him past the table and through a doorway on the right. There was another, smaller, table on Michael’s left against a wall with several large windows and a pair of glass doors that led out onto a large deck. To his right was a good sized kitchen, also with wooden floors, that had a ton of shiny appliances, most of which Michael would not have been able to use if his life depended on it.

Through the kitchen Gavin led him to a hallway with several doors. He opened the first door on the left. “This is my room,” he said, taking the bag Michael was holding and tossing it onto the bed. “Thanks for grabbing that for me, by the way. Appreciate it.” From the quick glance Michael got as they walked by, he got the impression of a room crowded with video game paraphernalia and a ton of electronics that he couldn’t identify. Folding doors on the right apparently led to a laundry room, with machines that had so many buttons Michael personally thought they ought to be flying to the moon rather than washing clothes. The next door on the left led to a large bathroom, and the third was apparently Ray’s room. 

Ray opened his door and also tossed the bag he was carrying onto the bed. “Home sweet home. Jesus, all I wanna do is get some food and crash. Road trips always sound like fun right up until you’re about 6 hours in.” Ray’s room was far neater than Gavin’s, but Michael didn’t really get a chance to check it out as Gavin once again herded him along, Ray trailing after.

At the end of the hallway was another door, “That leads to the garage,” Gavin helpfully pointed out, and then the hallway turned and opened back up into the living room. Gavin led him back towards the front door and up the stairs. The top of the stairs had another open carpeted area with five doors. Starting at the one on the far left, Gavin named the first three as Ryan, Jack, and Geoff’s rooms respectively, although the information was a bit unnecessary as the gents in question were coming out of their rooms as Gavin spoke. 

Geoff and Ryan walked past the lads and down the stairs without comment, but Jack stopped and smiled at Michael. “Welcome to our home—your home now.”

Michael stumbled a bit trying to ignore the warmth in his chest caused by Jack’s words while coming up with an appropriate response. “Uh…uh, thanks. It’s a really nice place.”

“Glad you like it. You guys should come back down when you’re through with the tour. I think we’re gonna try and figure out what we’re doing for dinner tonight.”

“Alright, we’ll be down in a minute.” Ray answered as Jack headed down the stairs. 

Gavin grabbed Michael’s elbow and starting heading to the right. Michael shrugged him off immediately, but Gavin didn't seem to mind. “That’s another bathroom,” he pointed as they passed the fourth door, “And this is your room!” He said enthusiastically as they came to a halt in front of the last door. It was open, and led to a slightly smaller bedroom with a full size bed, a short dresser, and a desk with a computer.

Michael was a little stunned. He figured the guys would be letting him crash on the couch for a while or something. It never occurred to him that they’d give him his own room. “ _My_ room? You want me to stay here?”

“Er, sorry it’s so bare? We were using it as a guest bedroom, mostly for when we have a party and someone ends up too pissed to drive home. I know it’s a little sparse, but now that you’re living here, we can get some better stuff in here…”

Gavin had apparently interpreted his surprise the wrong way. “What? No, I just meant…are you sure you wanna waste this much space on me? Before I met you guys, I was staying in a cement room underneath a burned down warehouse! I’d be fine sleeping on the couch, or whatever.”

Ray and Gavin both looked surprised at that piece of information—although Michael didn’t know why, they’d known he was homeless before—but Ray spoke up first. “Damn, dude, that’s rough. Of course we want you to stay here. We wouldn’t have invited you to live with us if we didn’t have the room to spare.”

“This is absolutely your room. I mean…for as long as you want it. The furnishings are a bit basic, but the computer’s top notch. Ryan can’t stand having ‘inferior’ computers around, so even the ones we aren’t actually using are pretty good. If there’s anything else you want or need, just let Geoff know. I know he wants to make sure you’re ok here—we all do.” Gavin laid his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and for once Michael didn’t try to shrug it off. His chest tightened, and he cleared his throat, trying to hide just how much their words affected him. 

“Oh. Uh, thanks. I really don’t need anything else. This is great.” He stared at the room, thoughts racing and emotions churning like a storm inside his chest. They were doing it again, acting like he meant something to them, making it seem like they weren’t just offering him a place to crash for a while but were offering him friendship, a place to belong, a _home_. And fuck him, but he wanted that, wanted it more than anything. He hadn’t even known it before he’d met the guys; he’d been so focused on survival, wishing for friends or a home had never occurred to him. How can you possibly imagine a home when even fresh food, shelter and warmth are a dream? But now that those things seemed to be on the table, he desperately wanted them, and it fucking terrified him. Because he’d learned at a very early age that those were not the kinds of things he got to have.

He’d always known he didn’t have a family, didn’t deserve one. His mother had been a drug addict, and he was just an accident, a mistake that she constantly wished she could undo, something that got in the way of her next fix or got on the nerves of her never-ending string of temporary boyfriends, and she never hesitated to tell him that. Even when he was a little kid Michael had known that if he didn’t take care of himself, no one would. He’d watched his mother waste away until they day she’d overdosed in the bathroom while he was watching cartoons in the other room. It was the reason he’d never so much as touched drugs, no matter how prevalent they were on the streets. 

He’d been given to a foster family after that, and that’s where he learned he didn’t get a home, either. His foster family had looked perfect from the outside, but behind closed doors there was enough violence to make the tiny, filthy apartment he used to live in seem like heaven. He’d stayed there for about a month, enduring because at least now he got food every day, and had clean clothes to wear, and his own room. And then he’d woken up to his door opening in the middle of the night… He’d run away the very next morning, deciding at the age of ten years old that it was better to survive on the streets than to live in the various kinds of hell he’d endured in places he was supposed to call ‘home.’

And friendship? The very first thing he’d learned on the streets was that you couldn’t trust adults, but it wasn’t until later, until he’d started to become skilled at surviving in the deadly world of the inner city streets, that he learned you couldn’t trust _anyone_. He absently reached up to touch the scar on his left cheek. Friends were more dangerous than enemies: even if they miraculously didn’t stab you in the back, there would eventually come a day when trying to protect them would land you in a fight you couldn’t win. 

So now it seemed like he was being offered a chance at things he never thought he’d have, and it terrified him in two totally separate ways. On the one hand, he was afraid that he was going to fuck this up; that he was going to do or say something wrong and the guys would throw him out. He was terrified of losing this one in a million chance at a real life. On the other hand, he also had years of experience telling him that this was too good to be true. He already liked and trusted the guys more than he should, and he was afraid that if he let himself believe that they were really his friends, it would hurt a thousand times worse when they betrayed him. He’d survived beatings and stabbings, starvation and killing cold, but if he took all of this at face value and got to have, for however brief a time, a home and friends… He wasn’t sure he could survive losing that and having to go back to the bleak struggle for survival that his life had been before.

It wasn’t until Gavin gently squeezed his shoulder and asked, “You alright?” that Michael realized he’d just been staring at the room in silence for almost a minute. 

He cleared his throat again. “Uh, sorry. Just really tired, I guess.”

Ray nodded. “You and me both, man. Let’s head back down. I vote we get some food and crash for the night. You can leave your backpack here, if you want.”

Michael nodded and tossed his bag onto the bed— _his_ bed, apparently—but he felt naked without it. He _always_ had his pack on him. There was never anywhere truly safe to keep stuff when you were living on the streets, but on your person was usually your best bet. Anything that was valuable, or useful but not too bulky, Michael kept in his pack. It was nerve wracking to just set down the sum total of everything he owned, minus the clothes on his back, and walk away. It’s not like these guys had any reason to take any of his shitty stuff, but it went against every instinct Michael had.

He trailed behind as Ray and Gavin headed back down the stairs, trying to shake off bad memories and fears about the future. Honestly, it wasn’t like he could change anything now. No matter how justified or unjustified his fears were, stressing out at this point wasn’t going to help. At the very least, he didn’t want to think about shit until he’d gotten some food and some fucking sleep. 

Downstairs Jack and Ryan had claimed the overstuffed chairs, and Geoff was sprawled out on the couch. “Fuck, man, I am tired as dicks.” 

“Me too. Sleeping in a van for a few hours definitely does not count as a good night’s sleep.” Ryan agreed.

“Food and sleep sounds pretty good right now. But we’re still gonna need to return the van. Where do we need to take it, Geoff?” Jack asked.

“Aw, fuck. I forgot we still had to do that. It’s on the south side of town, off of Congress.”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I definitely do not feel like cooking tonight. Since we have to go out and return the van anyway, why don’t we stop and pick up Home Slice?” Jack suggested. 

“Now that sounds like an _excellent_ plan. I’ll follow you in my car, if you want to drive the van, Geoff.” Ryan offered, already standing up to leave. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can eat and hit the sack.”

“Ugh. Alright.” Geoff levered himself off the couch with an exaggerated groan. “Did we get everything out of the van?”

“I think we got all of our bags out, but I know there’s still some trash and that cooler in there. C’mon, Vav, since you couldn’t even be bothered to get your own luggage out, you can help me clean out the van real quick.” Ray smacked Gavin on the arm, and the two headed out the front door.

While they waited for the two lads to clear out the van, Jack turned to Michael. “So, Michael, what kind of toppings do you like on your pizza?”

Michael shrugged. “Haven’t really had pizza before. Don’t have an opinion.” That wasn’t actually true. He’d had pizza before, but it was usually cold and stale, leftovers and crusts dug out of dumpsters. Even in that state, pizza was usually a lucky find. The box helped keep it from getting too nasty in the trash, and it actually didn’t taste half bad, as long as you got some that hadn’t really started going bad yet.

“Seriously!? Oh, man, wait until you try Home Slice. Best fucking pizza in Texas. You will definitely have an opinion after this!” Geoff said.

“Ok.” Michael fidgeted a bit, not really having anything to add to the conversation. Fortunately Ray and Gavin came back almost immediately, carrying the foam cooler and a bag of trash.

“Van should be clear. With the possible exception of some stray gummy bears that I am not going to spend all night searching for.” Ray looked pointedly at Gavin.

“Oi! That wasn’t my fault.” All five of them looked at Gavin incredulously. “Ok, that wasn’t _entirely_ my fault.”

“Alright, that’s good enough for me. If they wanna charge a fee for cleaning or whatever, they can charge a fee. It’s on a company card anyway.” Geoff started heading for the front door. “You ready to go, Ryan?”

“Yep. Right behind you.”

Once the two were gone, Jack turned to Ray. “Ray, I could use your help with something. Come on.” He tilted his head at the hallway, and then headed that way. 

Ray looked at Michael and Gavin, shrugged, and followed Jack out of the room. Gavin walked over and flopped down on the couch. “It’s going to be at least 30 minutes before the guys get back, but I don’t feel like doing _anything_. Wanna just watch some telly?” He patted the seat next to him, inviting Michael to sit down.

Michael shrugged and sat down in the comfy chair on the left, the one that allowed him to watch both the hallway Jack and Ray had disappeared into and the front door, rather than on the couch. He’d rather not deal with Gavin’s complete incomprehension of the concept of personal space right now. He’d gotten maybe an hour of sleep in the past 36 hours—he was fucking exhausted. Gavin pouted for a bit, but picked up the remote and started flipping through channels.

Not bothering to pay attention to whatever was on the TV, Michael absentmindedly kept an eye on the door and the hallway, lost in his own thoughts. He felt off balance, more nervous than he’d been in years. On the streets he’d often been angry, frequently afraid, and constantly wary, but never nervous or uncertain. No matter how dangerous the streets were, he’d been comfortable there, familiar with the dangers and the unspoken rules. In this more normal and civilized world he felt like an intruder. He couldn’t even guess at the rules here, and since there didn’t seem to be any threats to look out for, at least not the kind of threats Michael was used to dealing with, he was tense and on edge, waiting for something to blindside him.

After a few minutes Ray and Jack emerged from the hallway, Jack carrying what looked like an armful of clothes. Neither said anything, Ray just offering a grin and a wave as the two headed upstairs. Gavin was still flipping through channels, occasionally pausing for a few seconds only to change the channel again when whatever had been playing lost his interest. The last TV Michael had watched was Saturday morning cartoons when he was ten years old. Apparently a lot had changed since then. The quality on the giant TV was amazing, even if Michael didn’t understand a single damn thing that was going on in any of the shows Gavin was looking at, and there seemed to be an infinite number of channels. Maybe later Michael would be interested in the apparently endless variety of stuff available to watch, but for now he was too tired to do anything more than let the color and noise wash over him while he kept an eye on the front door and waited for Geoff and Ryan to get back.

Eventually Ray and Jack came back downstairs, both joining Gavin on the couch. Michael was itching to ask what they had been doing, but also knew it was none of his business—this was their house and he was just a guest, most likely a _temporary_ guest. Since he was hoping to stay as long as possible, he figured it was better to not be nosy. He’d still only known these guys for barely five days, no matter how much they acted like friends. Staying quiet until he was more familiar with what might annoy or offend them seemed like the smart play here.

Almost an hour had passed by the time Ryan and Geoff returned. At the sound of the garage door opening, Gavin whooped and turned off the TV. Ryan came in and collapsed into the chair across the couch from the one Michael was sitting in. “Alright, that’s it. I’m not doing any more driving today. I want some food and then I’m crashing. I always forget how exhausting road trips are!”

Geoff came in carrying three large boxes of pizza. He set them down on the coffee table and then, seeing that there weren’t any more open spots to sit, just sat down on top of Gavin. “Geoff, you mug! Get off!” Everyone laughed as Gavin struggled, entirely unsuccessfully, to shove Geoff off of him. Jack and Ray finally took pity on him, scooting over on the couch so there was room for Geoff to sit on the actual couch instead of Gavin. 

While the guys on the couch were sorting themselves out, Ryan opened up all three boxes of pizza. It looked like a massive amount of food to Michael, even for six guys. Each pizza had different toppings, though he wasn’t actually familiar enough with fresh food to identify all of them. Two had pepperoni and a second topping that he didn’t recognize, and one seemed to have a bunch of some kind of veggies on top. Ryan grabbed a slice of the veggie one and leaned back in his chair to eat. Michael leaned forward, but didn’t reach for any of the food. All the other times he’d eaten with the guys, they’d been in a restaurant, each with their own meal. He wasn’t sure what to do with this sort of communal dish. Should he be taking a slice from a certain one? Was he just supposed to grab one, or should he ask? Fuck, for that matter, was he still supposed to be eating with them? It seemed unlikely, but for all he knew, now that he was living with them, maybe he should be fending for himself.

Jack looked at Ryan and chuckled. “Jeeze, Ryan, way to be a caveman. You’re not even going to get a plate?”

Ryan raised his eyebrow. “It’s _pizza_. What do I need a plate for? See pizza, grab pizza, eat pizza. It’s really not that complicated.”

“You’re as bad as the lads. You’re going to get grease on the chair!” Jack said as he stood up and headed for the kitchen.

Ryan did not look repentant. “You are such a mother hen, Jack.”

“I heard that!” Jack called out from the other room.

Gavin and Geoff apparently agreed with Ryan, each grabbing a piece of one of the pepperoni and mystery topping pizzas. Rather than grabbing a slice of pizza, Ray also stood up and headed towards the kitchen. “You know what, I want a Dr. Pepper. Anybody else want anything?” 

“Beer!” Geoff said around a mouthful of pizza.

“Beer—” Gavin started to request as well, but choked on the piece of pizza currently in his mouth. Geoff laughed but also pounded him on the back as he coughed.

“I’ll take a diet Coke.” Ryan said.

Ray had paused at the double doors leading to the next room. “Michael?”

Well, that made it sound like they were still ok with feeding him, at least. A beer sounded good, but between his exhaustion and being in a new place, he didn’t want to risk impairing his reflexes. “I wouldn’t mind a Dr. Pepper.”

Ray nodded and walked away, reappearing a minute later with an armful of drinks, Jack following behind him with a roll of paper towels and a handful of paper plates. As Ray handed out the drinks, Michael couldn’t help but ask Gavin, “I thought you were too young to drink?”

“Only in bloody America. If I was in England, I could have been drinking for years now.”

“He can’t drink in public, but I don’t care if he drinks at home. It’s great for entertainment value. The only thing dumber than regular Gavin is drunk Gavin.” Geoff added.

Ray plopped down on the couch next to Gavin, jostling him as he grabbed a paper plate and reached for a slice of pizza. Gavin’s beer suddenly foamed up, and Gavin abruptly leaned forward and desperately slurped at the foam, trying to keep it from spilling all over the couch. It looked thoroughly ridiculous, and Michael had to laugh. “Are you sure you know _how_ to drink beer?”

Finally getting his beer back under control, Gavin leaned back again. “That wasn’t my fault! Ray bunced me when he sat down!”

Geoff had already finished his first piece of pizza, and reached for a second. “Dude, I have never seen _anyone_ foam up their beer as often as you do. I honestly don’t even know how you do it. You're a like a force of nature—a tornado of dumb.” 

Jack just shook his head. “What would you like, Michael? We have pepperoni and mushroom—”

“Obviously the best one.” Ray commented.

“—pepperoni and sausage, and one with peppers, olives and mushrooms.”

“Uh, I’m good with whatever.” Michael was anything but a picky eater. Even when he’d lived with his mom, food was never a guaranteed thing, and on the streets he’d learned to eat just about anything that wasn’t completely rotten. The pizzas smelled great, and Michael didn’t imagine that any of them would be anything other than amazing by his standards.

“Alright. We’ll start you with the pepperoni and mushroom, although, contrary to Ray’s opinion, all of these are really good.” Jack grabbed a slice and set it on a paper plate, handing it to Michael along with a paper towel.

“Nah. Pepperoni and mushroom is the way to go. Don’t listen to these guys and their fancy vegetables.”

“Shut up, Ray.” Jack said as he wedged himself back in on the couch with the other three.

Even though Michael had eaten more in the past few days than he probably had in the last month, his stomach growled like he was still starving. Apparently you didn’t get over a lifetime of living on the verge of starvation in just a few days. On the plus side, after four days of these guys giving him 3 huge meals a day, he was finally able to eat at a normal speed without his stomach cramping. When he took his first bite of pizza, he actually closed his eyes for a second to savor the taste. “Holy shit. This is fucking amazing.” Fresh pizza was absolutely nothing like the rock hard crusts or half eaten pieces covered in congealed cheese that he was used to. He didn’t think he could describe the flavor if his life depended on it. It was just amazing.

“Ha! I told you! Home Slice is the best pizza in Texas. You are never gonna want to eat anywhere else.” Geoff said.

After savoring the first bite, Michael practically inhaled the slice of pizza. The slices were pretty good size—there were probably more calories in a slice than Michael used to eat in an entire day—but he was definitely still hungry. Most of the other guys were already on their second piece, but he didn’t reach for another slice, still not sure what the rules were, or how much the guys were willing to give him. He didn’t want to annoy them by eating too much of the food they had paid for.

He took a drink of soda to cover up his hesitation, and Jack noticed his empty plate. “You want another piece, Michael?” Before he could answer, Jack continued, “Gavin, hand Michael a piece of the sausage. He should try all three; see which one he likes best.” Gavin complied, handing Michael another slice with different toppings.

The second piece was just as delicious as the first, and eaten just as quickly, although Michael thought he probably agreed with Ray that the mushrooms were a little bit better. As soon as it was gone, Gavin handed him another piece, this time with peppers on it. The flavor on this one was much stronger than the other two, the peppers adding a fair amount of heat, as well as an interesting crunch. He was finally slowing down, the large slices sating even his appetite. 

“So, which one is your favorite, Michael?” Jack asked when he finished his last slice.

“Uh, they were all delicious…but I have to agree with Ray. The mushroom and pepperoni one is pretty awesome.”

Ray grinned. “Yes! I knew I liked this guy. He has excellent taste in pizza.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “You guys just have no imagination.”

“Do you want another piece?” Jack was apparently intent on making him fat.

“No thanks. It’s really good, but I think I’d pop if I ate one more piece.” As soon as he finished speaking, he yawned so wide his jaw creaked. This seemed to trigger a chain reaction, as each of the other guys also yawned.

Gavin leaned back, resting his head on the couch. “I am absolutely knackered. I have no idea why you said a road trip would be a good idea, Ray.”

“Me!? You’re the one who got all excited about the road trip!” Ray protested.

“Nope. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gavin grinned at Ray, who flipped him off.

“I don’t know about you idiots, but I think I’m gonna go pass out. I don’t care what time it is. We have to go to work tomorrow, and I intend to get as much sleep as humanly possible before then.” Geoff swallowed the last of his beer and set the bottle on the coffee table. “I went and got the pizza, so you guys can clean up. See you tomorrow.” He stood up and stretched, back popping, before wandering off up the stairs.

Ryan stood up and started condensing the left over pizza into a single box. “Wanna help me clean up, Gav?”

Gavin groaned, but didn’t protest. He stood up and started grabbing everyone’s plates and empty bottles. As he and Ryan disappeared into the other room, Jack also stood up and stretched. “I think I’m with Geoff. I’m hitting the sack early. I will never understand how sitting in a car doing nothing for an entire day can be so exhausting. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” 

Ray turned to Michael as Jack headed upstairs. “Sounds like everyone is just gonna pass out tonight. I’d say we’re not usually this lame, but honestly, we kind of are. If the road trip hadn’t wiped everybody out, we’d probably just be playing video games. You can watch TV, or I can set up the Xbox for you if you don’t want to sleep yet…?”

Michael snorted. Despite the fact that the sun hadn’t even gone down yet, sleep sounded like a great idea. “Passing out sounds pretty awesome right now.”

“Ok, cool. Well, welcome to Austin. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks.” Michael was halfway to the stairs when Ray called out.

“Oh, hey! If you want to take a shower or anything, there are towels in the bathroom closet, and clean clothes in the dresser in your room.”

Michael stopped, confused. “Clothes in the dresser?”

“Oh, er… I hope you don’t mind a few hand-me-downs for now. Jack thought you might like to have a few changes of clothes and some pajamas to wear until we can get you some new stuff. So while you were watching TV with Gavin, I raided my closet and Jack snagged some jeans and pajamas from Geoff. I think I’m too short for mine to fit you, and Gavin only has those stupid skinny jeans. Geoff’s will probably be a bit baggy, but they should fit.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. These guys had already done more for him in the past few days than anyone in his entire life. And they had yet to ask for a single thing in return. “What…? I mean, thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. You’re already giving me a place to stay and feeding me… I really don’t need any other stuff.”

“We don’t have to, but we want to. Besides, like 90% of our shirts are free from work. No reason not to share.” As if that was all that needed to be said, Ray smiled at him and headed off to his room.

Michael was still standing there, trying to figure out how his life had changed so completely, so quickly, when Gavin and Ryan came back into the room. “Everyone decide to turn in early?” Ryan asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Lazy bastards.” Gavin commented.

“What, are you going to be staying up?” Ryan looked at Gavin with one eyebrow raised disbelievingly.

“No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous, Ryan.” Ryan didn’t say anything, just raised his hands in an exasperated, ‘well then, what the fuck?’ gesture. Gavin grinned. “Just because I’m _also_ a lazy bastard, doesn’t mean they’re _not_ lazy bastards!” He clapped Michael on the back, a gesture Michael was just too tired to try and duck away from, and said goodnight, heading to his own room.

Ryan rolled his eyes at Gavin’s retreating back. “Well, I’m going to join the ‘lazy bastards’ and get some sleep. Are you gonna crash, or do you want me to set up the Xbox for you or something?”

Ray had made him the same offer. Michael wasn’t used to so many people being so nice to him. It was really weird. “Nah, sleep sounds great right now.” He followed Ryan up the stairs and said goodnight as the man disappeared into his own room. 

Michael went to his room—fuck, but it was weird to think of it as _his_ room—and stopped just inside the door, staring. He was having a little bit of difficulty believing that this was all real. His entire life had consisted of him struggling to survive while the world did its damnedest to beat him down. It seemed beyond absurd that he would by chance run into five guys who would end up offering to let him live with them, giving him food, his own room, even new clothes. He walked to the dresser to verify that last item—and yep, the top two drawers held more clothes than he’d ever owned in his life. Honestly, he would worry that this was all too surreal, and that he was hallucinating it all after hitting his head at some point, except that he didn’t think he could have come up with this situation even in his wildest dreams. 

A huge yawn interrupted his thoughts. Fuck, he was too tired to think about all this right now. He debated taking a shower, but decided it would be better to wait until morning. The guys had said they were going to work tomorrow, right? He’d much rather wait until there was no one in the house. He didn’t really expect them to burst in on him, but there was definitely something innately vulnerable in having to take all your clothes off to shower. And since he already felt a little too damn defenseless here, anything he could do to not make that worse would be a good thing. 

He used the restroom, brushed his teeth (using a toothbrush he’d shoplifted months ago and toothpaste he’d nicked from the hotel), and retreated back to his room. He closed the door, and felt an unpleasant shiver run up his spine when he realized there was no lock on the door. He stood there a moment, arguing with himself. You were at your most vulnerable when you were asleep—that might as well be the fucking motto of his life. He’d survived by never sleeping anywhere where he didn’t have some kind of protection. That meant either somewhere defensible that he could barricade or lock, or somewhere hidden, where no one would think to look for a victim in the first place. A room with no lock where people knew he was sleeping was neither of those things. On the other hand, he’d yet to get even a hint that the guys had sinister motives behind their kindness. And fuck, even if they did, he wasn’t a little kid any more. If his door opened in the middle of the night, he could defend himself now. Gripping the switchblade in his pocket steadied him, and he decided to just sleep here, regardless of how much his instincts were screaming that it was a bad idea.

He also decided that if he was going to live here, he might as well indulge a little. When he’d been in the hotel he’d slept fully clothed and on the floor because he’d thought he would be back on the streets in just a few days. No point in getting used to too much comfort. But he was planning to stay here as long as he could. He might as well enjoy things while he had the chance. He changed into a clean t-shirt and the pajama pants Ray had given him—soft cotton drawstring pants that were ridiculously comfortable. The pockets were too loose to securely hold his switchblade, though, so he put it underneath his pillow. More out of habit than conscious thought, he placed his backpack, shoes, and the clothes he wasn’t wearing right next to the bed where he could grab them immediately if he needed to run.

He flipped the lights off and settled beneath the blankets, pulling them all the way up to his ears and shoving one arm beneath his pillow, hand resting on the blade hidden there. Holy shit, this was the life. He had a full stomach, he was warm, and he was sleeping on a fucking crazy soft bed. Even if they threw him out tomorrow, it might all be worth it just for this moment. He wanted to stay awake for a bit to savor it, but as soon as he relaxed his exhaustion caught up with him and he was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I might have gotten a bit excited about the story and rushed getting this chapter out. If you see any mistakes, please let me know so I can correct them! Thank you so much for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

The soft bed, warmth, and a full stomach conspired to make Michael sleep much deeper than he usually allowed himself to. So the sound of his door opening the next morning wasn’t quite enough to wake him. A shout of “G’morning!” followed by a body landing at the foot of his bed, however, certainly was. He woke up with a gasp, fear flooding through him, and reacted instantly, violently throwing himself off of the bed without pausing to see who or what was attacking him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t used to sleeping under sheets and a blanket, so instead of rolling out of bed and diving away from the attacker like he intended, his feet tangled in the bedding and he ended up falling off the bed, slamming into the floor shoulder first. His attacker said something and reached for him, but Michael didn’t register the words. Cursing, he was up again almost immediately, kicking free of the blankets and throwing himself backwards until he was standing with his back to the wall, facing whoever had assaulted him. He’d triggered his switchblade as soon as his head had left the pillow, but in the fall off the bed he’d somehow stabbed the pillow and the blade had become tangled in the cloth. When he instinctively raised the blade to defend himself, the pillow came with it. 

Once he stopped moving, chest heaving and pulse pounding in his ears, Michael realized that it was Gavin sitting on the end of his bed. His brain slowly catching up to what was going on, Michael belatedly registered that Gavin had been worriedly asking, “Are you alright?” when he’d fallen off of the bed. But when Gavin saw Michael apparently brandishing a pillow at him, he started laughing so hard he fell over on the bed, clutching his stomach. 

Gavin may have thought the situation was hilarious, but Michael’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest. Every muscle in his body was tense and adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He usually slept so lightly that the slightest noise would wake him up—all it took was the scuff of a shoe on pavement or the click of a door opening, and he would be awake and ready to defend himself long before anyone got close. It had been a long fucking time since he’d been comfortable enough to stupidly fall into a deep sleep like that. Gavin’s rude awakening may not have been an attack, but when Michael woke up to the realization that someone was close enough to hurt him and he was, for a moment, completely defenseless, his reaction had been automatic. And now that he was awake, the rush of fear still lingering in his chest triggered memories of other times he’d been woken up unexpectedly—and those times had not ended nearly so harmlessly, nor painlessly. 

Fortunately, Gavin seemed to find him and the pillow the funniest thing on the fucking planet, and his breathless laughter continued for a couple of minutes. It gave Michael some time to try and slow his breathing and relax out of his defensive stance. He lowered his hand—he probably ought to be grateful the blade had gotten tangled, disguising the fact that he’d been about four seconds away from stabbing the other man. Once it was clear he wasn’t actually under attack, the adrenaline drained out of his system, leaving his hands shaky and his muscles weak. While Gavin slowly got his laughter under control, Michael discreetly yanked the blade free from where it had gotten tangled in the pillow case. He dropped the now slightly ripped pillow on the floor and stuck his hands in his pockets to conceal both the knife and his shaking. 

“You fucking done yet, asshole?” His voice was rough with sleep, anger, and violent memories.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you fall off the bed. Are you ok?” Despite the traces of laughter still in his voice, Gavin’s concern seemed genuine. 

“I’m fucking fine.”

Despite the harsh tone, Gavin seemed to take that as reassurance that he hadn’t done any real harm. His grin came back full force. “I didn’t mean to startle you so badly, but you leaped across the room like a cat that got its tail stepped on! That was bloody hilarious, Micoo!”

Michael knew he should smile or lighten up, should play along like it was no big deal, but with his hands shaking and knees weak from the aftermath of the fear and adrenaline, he found he was unwilling to cut Gavin any slack. “Awesome. I’m so fucking glad I can entertain you first thing in the fucking morning.”

Gavin seemed to realize he’d crossed a line when Michael’s tone remained furious and his scowl didn’t let up in the slightest. His grin slid away and he stood up, tone serious now. “I’m sorry I startled you. I just came in to let you know that we have to leave for work soon, and to see if you wanted anything for breakfast.”

Michael’s glare did not relent. “Maybe you should fucking _knock_ , next time.”

Gavin looked…sad? Disappointed? Regretful? Michael didn’t know him well enough to accurately interpret the somber look on his face. “I will, I swear.” He paused for a moment, but Michael didn’t know what he expected him to say. When Michael remained silent and glaring, Gavin’s shoulders fell a bit, and it seemed like he could add ‘dejected’ to the list of mixed emotions showing on Gavin’s face. “We’re all down in the kitchen. I think Geoff may want to speak to you before we go. I’ll leave you be.” He nodded at Michael and left the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Michael took a deep breath and let it out with a curse. “Fuck.” He shook his hands, trying to get rid of the last of the panic that being ambushed in his sleep had triggered. He knew that, from a normal person’s point of view, he’d probably over reacted. But he’d spent his entire life learning the hard way that if someone came up on you while you were vulnerable, it wasn’t going to end well. He couldn’t exactly turn off a lifetime of instincts just because he _probably_ wasn’t in danger here. He really wished his damn door had a lock. Last night he’d thought he’d be able to handle it, but after this reminder of just how much it sucked to be startled awake, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to sleep if just anyone could walk in on him. 

He picked up the pillow he’d stabbed and looked it over. It seemed like the blade had ripped the pillow case a little, but hadn’t damaged the actual pillow. He placed it back on the bed, ripped side down. Hopefully no one would notice it. He hadn’t even been here 24 hours and he was already fucking shit up unintentionally. He really wasn’t cut out for a normal life.

Remembering that Gavin had said Geoff wanted to talk to him, he got dressed in the same ripped jeans, thin t-shirt, and worn hoodie that he’d been wearing yesterday. He had other clothes he could change into—which still seemed crazy to him—but there was no point in wearing clean clothes until he got a chance to take a shower. He debated leaving his blade in his backpack; as jumpy as he felt, if Gavin snuck up on him again he was little worried he’d accidently stab the guy. But in the end he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. In his experience it was better to be too paranoid rather than not paranoid enough. That blade had saved his life more than once, and while he didn’t think he was likely to be seriously attacked here, he’d also thought he’d be ok sleeping in a room with no lock on the door. 

He made his way downstairs, pausing just outside the kitchen. All five guys were there; most of them were seated at the table finishing up breakfast, but Geoff was standing, leaning against the counter and drinking a cup of coffee. When he spotted Michael, he gestured him over and tilted his head at the half-full pot of coffee on the counter. “Want some coffee?” 

Michael hesitated, but accepted. “Sure.” The coffee pot was in the corner, which at least gave him a reasonable excuse to stand with his back to a wall where he could see all five of them. The unpleasant wakeup this morning made him even more jumpy than usual.

“There are cups in the cabinet on the left, spoons in the drawer underneath, and Ryan conveniently left the cream and sugar out on the counter.” Geoff said, shooting a look at Ryan.

Ryan shrugged. “I’m probably going to get another cup before we leave anyway. Why waste time putting stuff away when I’m just going to get it back out again?”

Michael opened the cabinet that Geoff had pointed out and grabbed a mug similar to the one Geoff was using. He poured himself some coffee, ignoring the cream and sugar, since the few times he’d had coffee in the past he’d drunk it black. He took a sip, conscious of Geoff watching him, and felt his eyes widen. “Wow. Uh…that is _really_ strong.” The only coffee he’d had before this, usually from soup kitchens or shelters the few times he’d managed to get a spot in line, was weak stuff, barely a step above hot water. This was obviously much higher quality, and anything but weak.

Jack laughed. “Yeah, it takes a lot of caffeine to get Geoff moving in the morning. I can’t drink the shit he makes without a ton of cream and sugar.”

Michael took Jack’s statement as a suggestion, and added a hefty splash of cream and several spoonfuls of sugar to his cup. He cautiously took another sip, and was pleasantly surprised. The cream and sugar actually made the bitter drink pretty good.

Geoff spoke up as Michael settled against the counter. “We hate to have to leave you alone on your first day here, but we’ve been out of the office since last Thursday. We can’t really afford to take another day off—we’re already behind.” 

Michael shrugged. “That’s ok. I understand.”

“Thanks, but I still don’t like it. So I wanted to talk to you before we head out.” Michael nodded, tensing up a little. He was fully expecting a lecture about not touching any of their stuff, maybe even some threats regarding what would happen to him if he stole anything. “We’re gonna be gone about nine hours, and I don’t want to leave you here just twiddling your thumbs all day. Ray can show you how to switch between the 360, cable, and Netflix if you want to play games, or watch TV or movies. Ryan’s been fiddling around with the computer in your room, but he said he can get it up and running if you want to play with that. And I’ve got a pretty decent selection of books in my room you can check out, if you get bored with that stuff. Is there anything else you can think of that you’ll need before we bail on you for the day?” 

Michael blinked, more than a little surprised. Them worrying about him being _bored_ was about the last thing he’d expected. “Uh. No? I mean, you don’t have to worry about me. The TV’s fine, I don’t need all that other stuff.” From watching Gavin surf yesterday, he figured the TV had about a thousand channels. He couldn’t imagine that he’d get bored with that many things to watch. Not to mention he had a couple of other things he wanted to do while the guys were gone. Then he remembered his talk with Ryan during the road trip. “Er… Actually, I was wondering… Ryan said you guys made videos for a living…?”

“Oh yeah! I promised I’d show you some of our stuff. Let me get your computer up and running and I’ll set up a playlist for you.” Ryan got up and gestured at Michael to follow him.

Michael glanced at Geoff, not sure if the conversation was over. “That’s not a bad idea, although I’m not gonna promise any of our stuff is actually going to be good. If you’re interested, one of these days you can come with us to the office, get a better idea of what we do all day. We’re just gonna be too busy today to be good company.” Geoff nodded in the direction Ryan had gone, encouraging Michael to follow the other gent.

Upstairs, Ryan was already sitting at the desk in Michael’s room. “Hey. So how much experience do you have with computers?” 

Michael came over to stand behind him, eyeing the computer skeptically. “I played The Oregon Trail on a computer at school when I was, like, 10. That’s pretty much it.”

“Ok. No worries. I’ll just set up a couple of different YouTube playlists on auto-play.” After a couple of minutes of clicking and occasional typing, Ryan leaned back to point out some buttons on the screen to Michael. “There we go. All you need to do is click here to play, and click here to pause. This here will adjust the volume.” He clicked on a button near the bottom of the screen and frowned. “Ok, why didn’t that…?” Looking around briefly, he let out a short ‘Aha!’ and unplugged something from the front of the computer, pulling the cord until he pulled up a pair of headphones that had fallen behind the tower. “And since someone left these here, now you have headphones too. Handy if the guys get too loud watching TV downstairs, or you want to watch something when everyone else is asleep without waking them.

“Anyway, I set up three tabs for you—click up here to switch between ‘em. The first one will play a bunch of our Let’s Plays for you. That’s pretty much Achievement Hunter’s main thing, the videos that get the most views. Second tab is set to play through a mix of some of our other series: Things To Do In, AHWU, Fails of the Weak. Those are all shorter videos that we put out weekly. Last tab will get you started on Red vs Blue. That’s the show that got Rooster Teeth—the company we work for—started, in case you want to get an idea of some of the things the rest of the company works on. Should be enough to give you a general idea of what we do. I’ve got each playlist set up so that when one video ends, the next will start automatically. Is there anything else you want me to set up on here before we go? I think I’ve got Steam downloaded on this machine, so there’re plenty of games you can play if you want.” 

Michael wasn’t sure what steam had to do with playing games on a computer, but since he had no intention of doing anything more than what Ryan had already showed him, he just shook his head. “No, that’s fine. I’m an idiot—I’d probably break the computer if I tried to do anything else with it.”

Ryan frowned. “You’re not an idiot. Using a computer just takes practice. If you ever want any lessons, just let me know, or I’m sure any of the guys would be willing to help out as well. And if you want to just wing it, click on stuff till you figure out what it does, go for it. It’s not a bad way to learn, and there’s not much you could do that I can’t fix. I’m kinda the PC guy around here. Honestly, Gavin’s not half bad with computers either, but he uses Macs.” He snorted disdainfully. From Ryan’s expression, Michael guessed that Macs were obviously inferior. 

Once again opting to just ignore the parts that he didn’t understand—what the fuck was a Mac?—Michael nodded. “Ok. Anyway, I appreciate you setting this up for me.”

“No problem. It’s definitely easier to show you this than it is to try and describe what we do.” Ryan stood up and headed back downstairs, Michael trailing behind him. “Now that I think about it, there are enough videos on those playlists to last you quite a while, but just because _we_ think we’re funny, doesn’t mean we’re _actually_ funny. I’d feel pretty bad if we left you with just our crap to watch. You should probably let Ray show you the TV set up, too, before we leave. There’s so many damn consoles and shit hooked up to it, it takes a dozen steps to just watch TV.”

Michael shrugged. It seemed very strange to be worrying about having enough entertainment. Being bored was not the kind of thing you usually worried about on the streets. Up until now, his days had been spent searching for shelter or food, or keeping an eye on the gang movement in the city so he could avoid it. He’d really fucking moved up in the world if his biggest concern at the moment was whether or not he had enough shit to keep him entertained for eight hours. 

The next few minutes passed in a blur of typical AH chaos. While the guys cleaned up breakfast and got ready to leave, Ray showed him how to work the TV—Ryan was right, the number of steps it took to turn on was a little fucking ridiculous. And the remote had way too many buttons for a thing that was just supposed to change channels. Then Jack found him and offered him a key to the house, which somehow still surprised him even though he was already going to be here alone all day anyway. The level of trust the guys seemed to put in him both confused and warmed him. No one in his entire life up till now would have trusted him enough to give him a key to their house, or to leave him alone in it all day. He didn’t think he deserved that kind of trust, but somehow Jack’s gentle smile made him wish he did. Geoff asked him a couple more times if he was sure he didn’t need anything else, and then the guys were out the door. 

Alone for the first time in days, Michael finally felt himself relax. He liked the guys, he really did, and he owed them more than he was ever going to be able to repay, but they could be exhausting to be around. He’d spent the majority of his life alone. Up until he’d met the guys, other people had almost universally meant trouble. He didn’t realize how tense he’d been, subconsciously constantly keeping an eye out for an attack that never came, until there was no one around to watch out for and he could let his guard down a little. 

He was glad to be left alone for the day for other reasons as well. He might have a place to stay for now, but that didn’t mean he always would. He really ought to get to know this city a little, so if (or when) the guys got tired of him and threw him out, he wouldn’t be totally clueless. He also needed a more thorough run down of the house—Gavin’s little tour was fine for a rough map of the place, but he’d been going too fast for Michael to pick up all the details he wanted to. He wanted to have multiple escape routes planned out and memorized in case he ended up needing to run. That kind of foresight—and/or paranoia—had saved his life more than once on the streets, and he wasn’t about to break a good habit. And he’d rather do his scouting when the guys weren’t around to ask where he was going or why. 

So his morning was spent memorizing the layout of the house and the local neighborhood. In the house, he memorized the floor plan, the location of, and quickest path to, all exits (both doors and windows), and noted that the front door locked securely, but the sliding glass doors in the back would be quite easy to jimmy or break open. He also, more out of habit than intent, mapped out the best defensive positions and the most valuable items worth stealing. He really should have done all this before he went to sleep here last night, but it wasn’t like he could snoop through the house when all five guys were there. As it was, he was fucking lucky that the guys, for some insane reason, trusted him enough to leave him here alone, giving him a chance to explore the house in peace.

The only thing that really stood out in the house was Geoff’s bedroom. Mostly because it had the largest bed Michael had ever seen—it damn near took up the whole room, and it was not a small room. Not even trying to keep his mind out of the gutter, he smirked, remembering that Ryan had confirmed that all five guys were in a relationship. Everyone else’s rooms had nice beds, but there was no way they’d fit more than two, _maybe_ three people. Looking at the size of this bed, though, Michael would bet that Geoff didn’t sleep alone very often. 

As he left the room and headed outside, however, Michael’s smirk faded, and he found himself wishing he didn’t know the guys were more than just friends. Sleeping with five other guys at his back should have sounded like a nightmare to him—he hated when people got too close to him, he hated being touched, and he never let his guard down enough to sleep when other people were around. The guys’ relationship should have made him feel scorn, not envy…but it didn’t. Not for the first time since he’d met the guys, he wondered what it would be like to be able to sleep next to someone he cared for, to trust that they had his back and he had theirs. It was never going to happen—he was nobody worth caring for—but seeing the guys and knowing they were together made it damn hard not to dream about. It didn’t fucking help that every one of them were funny, interesting, and way more attractive than he was comfortable with. 

He shook his head, irritated at the direction of his thoughts. Brushing aside the useless dreaming, he focused on mapping out the local neighborhood. With his more thorough tour of the house, he had a pretty good mental map of the place. He was confident he could make it to an exit from any point in the house even in a rush, in the middle of the night. The second half of planning ahead, however, was knowing where the fuck to run once you got out. To that end, he walked a wide area around the house, memorizing the locations of fences, yards with dogs, and side streets. Ideally, he’d like to explore the downtown area as well (there was a reason you didn’t see a lot of homeless people in suburban neighborhoods) but from here he could barely see the tall buildings he assumed marked the downtown area of this city. There was no way he’d be able to walk there in a day, explore, and still get back before the guys got home. So once he’d gone far enough to see where the small twisting neighborhood roads met the main roads, he turned back.

By the time he got back to the guys’ house, he’d been walking around for an hour or two and he was covered in sweat and starving. _Fuck._ Even in September it was hot as dicks here. He was going to have to remember that. He may not be in danger of freezing to death in winter, but it looked like getting enough water in the summer might become an issue. He headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing a large glass out of the same cabinet Geoff had pointed out that morning, filling it with water from the tap and gulping it down. 

He snooped around the kitchen, more than a little hungry. He’d gone most of his life without eating breakfast (and sometimes lunch and dinner); he was used to hunger being an almost constant companion. But apparently it only took a few days of regular meals to spoil him. Now that his stomach was starting to get used to a decent number of calories every day, it didn’t appreciate him skipping meals. 

There was plenty of food in the kitchen, both in the fridge and the pantry next to it. But Michael hesitated, staring into the open fridge. He definitely didn’t want to take anything that needed to be cooked or heated up. He didn’t even recognize half the appliances in the kitchen, and though the microwave seemed pretty self-explanatory, what if he fucked up and broke it somehow? He would never be able to pay them back, and he was already worried they’d eventually kick him out—he really didn’t want to speed up that inevitability by breaking shit on his very first day here. There was a fair amount of food he could eat without cooking, Doritos in the pantry, bread and fruit on the counter, lunch meats in the fridge, but… What if the guys were saving something for later? The guys had seemed okay with feeding him last night, but there was a difference between them offering him food and him just raiding their kitchen.

He wavered for a moment longer, and then shut the fridge door and left the kitchen without grabbing anything more than another glass of water. Fuck it. He’d lived most of his life getting less food in a day than these guys gave him in a single meal. Why risk possibly making them mad by taking their food, or being more of a burden than he needed to? He would eat if they offered him something or had a meal together, but otherwise he resolved to not swipe any of their food. If he ended up needing to scrounge for food elsewhere, well, he’d just figure that out later.

Michael headed up to his room—and _that_ was never going to stop being weird, calling something _his_ room. Since he wasn’t going to eat, and didn’t feel like mapping out the neighborhood any further in the heat, he might as well shower while he had the house to himself, and then check out the video list Ryan had left him. He grabbed a t-shirt and one of the pairs of jeans Jack and Ray had stashed in the dresser in his room. He could tell that the jeans would be pretty baggy on him, but they were clean, and didn’t have any holes in them, which was more than he could say about the ones he was currently wearing.

As Ray had promised, there were clean towels in the closet in the bathroom. Locking the door, even though he knew there was no one in the house, he piled the clean clothes and towel on the counter. It still took him several minutes to figure out how to turn the shower on, but at least this time he knew to adjust the heat _before_ he hopped in. He lingered in the shower long after he was done soaping up and rinsing off, just letting the hot water flow over him. Of all the perks that had come with meeting the guys, this might be one of the best. The chance to take a hot shower every day was a luxury he hadn’t thought he ever have.

When the water finally started to turn cold, he stepped out, drying off and slipping on the clean clothes. He had to cinch his belt tight to keep the jeans on his hips—like he’d thought, they were a little bit too long and a couple sizes too big. Carrying his old clothes back to his room, he tossed them in a corner next to his bag. He was going to have to ask the guys if it was alright if he used their washer. Before, all he’d had was a utility sink to rinse out his clothes in. It would be great if he could actually get his clothes clean, rather than just less dirty. 

With nothing else to do for the day, he guessed it was time to see what exactly it was the guys did for a living. Sitting down at the computer, he saw that the first tab Ryan had set up for him—what had he called these videos? Let’s Plays?—had over 60 videos in the playlist. Clicking where Ryan had shown him to look at the other lists, he saw that the second one was just as long, and the third even longer. _Damn._ Well, this was certainly more than enough to keep him occupied while the guys were at work—probably for the next month or so. Settling more comfortably into his chair, he clicked on the first video.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lately it feels like the chapters have been getting rougher and rougher. Both in how bloody long it's taking me to get them done, and in that they just don't really feel polished enough. If you see any errors, please let me know and I will do my best to correct them.
> 
> And as always, thank you so much for reading, and any comments/complaints/suggestions are greatly appreciated!
> 
> EDIT 10/1/14: Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to start writing the next chapter of Switchblade. While I do want to write at least a few more chapters, life has gotten a bit complicated, and I have not had time to write lately. With the holiday season approaching, it does not look like I will be getting any more free time to write in the foreseeable future. So, I deeply apologize, but there will be a brief hiatus in updates for this story. While it is my hope that this hiatus will not last more than a couple of months, I honestly cannot predict when things will calm down and allow me to start writing again, so there is a good chance the story will not be updated until after the holiday season. I am very sorry to leave you hanging. :( When I start writing the next chapter I will update this note to let you know.


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